


Just A Little Rain

by ourcrashdownblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 70s music, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avoiding spoilers by withholding non-triggering tags, Blood, Body Horror, Car Accidents, Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Codependency, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dean Winchester Gets a Hug, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester Whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forced Cohabitation, Gentleness, Guilty Dean Winchester, Heavy Angst, Horror, Jack Kline Whump, M/M, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Room AU, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Touch-Starved, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting, Whump, disassociating, long-term captivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 143,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26721619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourcrashdownblue/pseuds/ourcrashdownblue
Summary: Dean Winchester has been living in a basement since he was twelve.  That was three years ago.  He doesn't remember much about his life before the basement, and he hasn't seen another living soul since then—except for Luc, the man keeping him there.  But when Luc brings home a "surprise," Dean's whole reality gets turned upside down once again.Title from the "The Rain Song" by Led Zeppelin
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Lucifer (Supernatural), Dean Winchester & Mary Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester, Jack Kline/Lucifer, Lucifer/Dean Winchester, Non-Consensual Pairings:
Comments: 649
Kudos: 369





	1. "Solitude"

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!! This is my first long fic ever and I have no clue how this is going to go. Okay, that's not entirely true because I have a full outline and quite a few chapters already written...so I do have some idea how this going to go. Here's the plan:  
> \- My outline says 18 chapters but one or two might be added down the line if the flow works out better or I just don't know when to shut up.  
> \- The tags are mostly for content warnings because so no one accidentally walks into a fic that isn't good for their mental health, and therefore don't go into much detail to avoid spoilers. PLEASE DO NOT READ this if any of the above tags are going to do you harm--your well-being is way more important than a fic.  
> \- I don't have a set schedule for releasing chapters. I'm pretty new to this style of posting so bear with me :)
> 
> I know this is pretty dark compared to what I usually write but I sincerely hope you enjoy the story I have in-store for you. And, yes, the chapter titles are named after 70's songs that I think go with the rhythm of the chapter. This chapter's title comes from "Solitude" by Black Sabbath.
> 
> Take Care,  
> Blue

Dean Winchester bolts up in bed, the sharp hooks of a dream still pulling at his brain. His hands clamp down on the tacky, sweat-soaked sheets that are wadded around his waist and heaves in gulping breaths of musty air. 

Dark figures and rusted-out, silver vans are fuzzy in his mind’s eye, but hot panic still burns in his belly. He digs his palms into his eye sockets and slaps his cheeks to try to drive the sleep away. Blinking back forgotten tears, Dean looks around the room. It’s all still here. The wobbly table and chairs. The sink with the brown stuff making a ring around the drain. The yellowing bathtub. The boxy TV, fuzzy with static. The chipped toilet. 

And beyond the door, the Playroom still waits for him.

_I’m still here._

Dean lets his body slump back down on the icy sheets, wrapping the thicker scratchy blanket over his shoulders. He pulls the pillow over his head and tries to disappear into nothing--but his brain won’t shut up. Luc’s face is burned behind his eyelids and phantom fingers slither over his body and flashing memories of last night's “game” burst across his skin.

Dean holds his breath, squeezing his hand over his mouth, until the stone in his throat feels like it’s going to explode. He stutters and coughs within the humid cave of his pillow when he can’t keep it down any longer. He fumbles his hand out from the covers to the scuffed plastic table beside the bed, clammy hands wrap around the cassette player and thin metal headphones. His thumb misses the red button twice before the player roars to life. He’d left _Zeppelin III_ in and “Immigrant Song” blares in his ears. He clicks ahead until the strumming chords of “Tangerine” fade in. He squeezes his eyes closed, letting the words hum past his own lips and dissolve into the melody of Robert’s voice. Luc and his hellhole start to wither into the background, only tainting the edges of his thoughts. His breaths become less and less jagged. By the time the next track opens, Dean is floating on the hazy edge of consciousness once again.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

When Dean eases out of his fitful sleep, he can hear water humming through the pipes in the walls. Luc must be awake. 

He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring at nothing in the black room, waiting for his lightheadedness to die down. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean rises to his feet and stretches. He runs his hand along the edge of the bed, guiding himself by the silvery glow of the TV to the light switch under the blacked-out window that sits high in the wall. The room falls into a fluorescent yellow when he flicks the switch.

The headphones had slipped off him at some point and he can hear the tinny crackle of electric guitar drifting into the air. He turns the player off and neatly rearranges it on the plastic table. He pats the still-damp sheets and shrugs. At least he’ll have something to do today that isn’t just scrubbing the counters _again_.

Dean pulls the flat sheet from the bed, balling it up on the counter. If he can get the sheet washed right away, it’ll hopefully be dry enough to put back on the bed that night. It only takes fifteen minutes of scrubbing in the sink with dish soap before Dean’s hands start to cramp too much. He wrings out the sopping fabric and spreads it over the table and chair backs until it looks something like a tent. Images of a gap-toothed Sammy, a plush dog named Bones tucked under his little arm, crawling on the carpet under a maze of rearranged furniture and mismatched blankets flood Dean’s mind for a second. He blinks away the memory when a wave of nausea rolls through his gut.

_Wherever he is, he’s safe now._

It’s too quiet again. 

Dean goes over to the TV and hooks the VHS player up, plugging in the familiar cords and wires. He gently loads _The Karate Kid_ into the small slot and cranks the volume up to the highest marker Luc lets him. He scooches the TV to the side to face the bed and sits back against the bare mattress. He fidgets with the hole in the hem of his t-shirt, spreading it that much wider as his hands refuse to calm down. After the first half hour of the movie, he’s rearranged his limbs a dozen times--biting back a pained wince every time--and can’t stop chewing at the patchy skin at the edges of his gnawed-down nails.

After Mr. Miyagi gives one last prideful look and the soaring music of the end credits fills the room, Dean slides in another tape without blinking and lets the chatter of cute, animated forest animals carry him away. He remembers feeling a tear drip off his chin when that asshole hunter shoots Bambi’s mom, but his mind is mostly grey after that. He’s not quite sure how much time passes, and he doesn’t remember watching the ending of the movie though he could recite the final scenes of all his tapes by heart. That sometimes happens though, and honestly what’s the point of staying in reality when there’s nothing worth remembering? From the tall stack of discarded VHSs on top of _The Karate Kid_ it looks like this time gap lasted half of the day. At least his skin doesn’t feel so itchy anymore. 

Dean slides one of the remaining tapes in and turns the volume almost off--just enough to clear his head. He stands up from the bed and nearly topples over again when his legs don’t want to work right away and black dots burst at the edge of his vision. He hisses through his teeth at the sharp fuzziness in his knees, propping himself at the edge of the mattress. Dean waits until his eyes clear and he can wiggle his toes again. He tentatively steps onto his feet and, when his legs are only a little wobbly, he goes to the sheet and rubs its corners between his fingers. It’s fully dry.

After he’s tucked all the corners under the mattress and set his lumpy pillow at one end and the folded-up blanket at the other, he feels a throb in his stomach that steals his attention. He checks the little alarm clock with the annoying, blinking middle number before stuffing it back in the dresser drawer. Luc would be back from work in an hour. Blood rushes in his ears and his skin feels prickly again. He hurries to pour water into the dented pot that has its home on the camp stove that is set up on the counter, dumping a Raman package in once the bubbles start to roll along the surface. He throws the seasoning packet in the black trash bag hanging from a hook on the side of the counter. Luc hates it when he tastes like chicken flavoring.

He sets a towel under the hot pan and fishes a spoon out of one of the counter’s drawers, he places a mug of water beside it. The noodles are scalding as they slide down his throat, nearly tasteless from the heat. But if he doesn’t get them all down before Luc comes in it’s not like Luc is gonna just sit around and wait for him to finish.

Dean’s scraping the bottom of the pot as his stomach rumbles for more--but that was his package for the day. After Luc leaves he’ll probably have a bowl of cereal. Wait, what day is it? Dean tries to parse out how many days ago Luc last brought him supplies. Three...maybe four days? Luc might be bringing groceries and a new bag of cereal with him tonight. Dean had asked specially for it the night before so there was a good 50/50 chance he’ll get it. His stomach cramps again. He should really stop thinking about food.

After scrubbing the dishes in the sink--Luc wouldn’t be happy if he didn’t--he sets them on the same towel to dry. He isn’t quite sure why he doesn’t just dry them and put them away but setting them out makes him feel better for some reason. Another glance at the clock in the dresser shows that he’d plowed through his food quicker than he’d thought. He kind of regrets not taking smaller bites, not stretching the meal. But at least it’s in his stomach now and Luc can’t take that away from him. Dean sits back down in the chair that squeaks at the slightest movement. He tilts back and forth. _Squeak. Squeak._ His ragged nails tap on the table to the beat of “Rock ‘N’ Roll Fantasy,” the faintest sound of voices from the TV reach his ears. He checks the clock again.

Still about a half an hour.

He can sit and think himself to death like this...but floppy brown hair and dimpled cheeks still parade around in his brain now that the fogginess has been wiped away with Raman. He slaps his hands on his thighs and ambles over to the bed, slipping the green notebook out from under the mattress. Its tattered cover hangs onto the plastic spiral by only a half of the remaining holes. He slips the pen with the name of some random bank that’s hooked onto the a few middle pages off and sets the items out on the table, plopping back down into the chair--

**_Sammy,_ **

**_Hi, buddy. Merry Christmas--least I’m pretty sure it’s almost Christmas. Luc was complaining about carolers the other day so it’s probably not too far away now. I hope you’re doing okay and feeling alright. I’m sorry I haven’t written for a few weeks (a month maybe?), but...not much really happens here so I don’t have much to write about._ **

**_I organized the cabinet and put the boxes in letter-order yesterday, but that only took an hour so I watched_ ** **Aladdin _again. I don’t think that one’s going to last much longer, though. It started skipping in three places so I’ll probably only get to watch it a few more times before the tape finally tears and I have to toss it out like_ Pippi Longstocking _. It’s stupid ‘cause I’m not even really crazy about that movie...but I’m still going to miss it. I remember seeing a pile of VHS tapes in a thrift store one time when Mom took us school shopping, but I don’t know if people even sell tapes anymore. Do they? I guess it doesn’t really matter. Luc is too much of a lazy bastard to go find any even if they do. He says that too much TV will rot my brain--like he gives a fuck about what happens to my brain…_**

Dean bites at the already misshapen end of the pen and stares down at the last line. He shakes his head and scribbles it away. Sammy didn’t need to hear his bitchin’.

_But he’s never gonna hear it anyway, is he?_

He rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes until it burns, and sparkles burst behind his eyelids. The pain blanks his brain for a second. It’s just long enough to dissolve the thought away. 

Dean sets his pen back on the paper--

**_~~He says that too much TV will rot my brain--like he gives a fuck about what happens to my brain~~ _ ** **_Maybe I’ll have something more interesting to write to you in my next letter, but that’s about all I’ve got. Luc has talked about having a surprise for me soon. It’s kind of freaking me out though and my stomach has been in knots for a week since he told me. Is it a good surprise? Maybe he’s going to bring me a new movie for Christmas...but I doubt it. I’m probably not going to like whatever it is--_ **

Dean slams his notebook shut as the deadbolt of the door at the top of the steps _clunks_. Heavy, steady steps thud down the stairs, wood creaking on the fourth plank as always. Luc’s steps are often slow and Dean wonders if the dude does it on purpose to get his heart going just a little bit faster.

He tucks his notebook under the bed and hits the power button on the TV and VHS player as the second...then the third steel doors unlock. 

“Dean?” Broad, looming shoulders and dirty blond hair push through the doorway as Luc enters. The tall man’s face splits into a smirk that doesn’t show his teeth--Luc probably thinks it looks flirty. Dean rubs at the hairs that are standing on his neck and looks back down at the floor, “ _It's time to go home now and I've got an aching head...And I say, ‘My darling, you were wonderful tonight_ ’,” Luc sing-songs as he slips his jacket onto the back of one of the chairs and sets a full paper bag on the table, “Come on...Clapton? I know I fucked up the middle there but really?”

The boy thumbs over the hole in his hem again but keeps his head bowed. Luc always likes it when Dean shows that he knows who’s boss. 

He swallows hard, “Hi, Luc.”

“What? I thought you liked my singing, baby doll,” Luc chuckles, rounding the table to where Dean stands with his hands in his pockets, “Don’t I get a kiss?”

Dean bites the inside of his cheek but smiles up at the man who’s crowded into his space. Thick cologne stings the back of his throat.

“Of course, baby.”

Luc’s tongue smears saliva over his bottom lip before he bends down and latches onto Dean’s mouth. Dean has barely taken a breath before Luc’s tongue prods at the seam of his lips. He lets his mouth go slack so Luc can jam his tongue in and do what he’d like. The boy’s hands wind around and knead at the muscles at the small of the man’s back, the spot he always bitches about being sore--like Dean cares if _he’s_ sore. But maybe if Luc is in a good mood he’ll go a little easier in the Playroom. Maybe he won’t even feel like playing a game if Dean’s already taking good care of him. One can dream.

Dean hums his highest moan for effect.

“Mmmm, now that’s what I like to hear,” Luc says as he pulls back from the kiss, “You been dreamin’ about me, sweet thang?”

 _God, I wish I didn’t_ , Dean wants to say--instead, he looks bashfully down at the buttons of Luc’s overshirt and gives the man a small shrug. A predatory laugh rumbles from low in Luc’s chest. The boy can feel a hard line starting to thicken at his hip. He gives Luc a quick squeeze and turns his body toward the grocery bag as much as he can in the cage of Luc’s arms.

“So...What’dya bring me?”

Dean can feel Luc’s gaze boring into the side of his face, but he keeps his eyes on the paper bag--not even when a thick finger traces along his jaw. 

“My little cocktease…” Luc chuckles but his arms drop down regardless. Dean lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, “Just food--nothing fancy. You’re not Paula Deen. Heh, get it? _Deen. Dean_.”

Dean leans over the bag to start taking items out, using the opportunity to put a few more inches between him and Luc. He makes a mental list of the new items and feels a little knot loosening in his chest. Luc has kept him fed every week for three years now--but Dean never stops worrying about the day Luc just up and decides the boy’s more trouble than he’s worth and the food just...stops.

But that isn’t today.

“Thank you, Luc,” Dean turns the gentlest smile he can muster to the man before going back to sift through the bag’s contents again.

Unyielding arms wrap around his waist and drag him back a step to Luc’s wide chest. A quick tongue slithers out across the back of his neck and goosebumps breakout down his arms.

“H-Hey, what’s this?” Dean reaches into the bottom of the bag and pulls out a plastic pack of new underwear with the neon orange clearance tag starting to peel off. He almost drops the package when sharp teeth clamp around the curve of his ear and Luc hums, not seeming to give two shits about whatever Dean just said. Dean clears his throat when he has to bite back a squeak, “Baby?”

Luc sighs into Dean’s hair and the man tilts his head back up. He can practically feel the cockiness dripping from Luc’s words as he says, “That, Dean, is just the beginning of your big surprise.”

“You, uh, you still haven’t told me what the surprise is…?”

“Come on, where’s the fun in that?” Luc exclaims reeling Dean uncomfortably closer and nosing at his hairline, “Now are we done talking? ‘Cause it’s gonna take a lot more than that to distract me from that perfect ass calling my name.”

Dean tenses again slightly before he can force his muscles to relax. Luc doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Luc.”

Luc hums distractedly and Dean knows it won’t be long now.

“Mmm, look at you, cupcake,” Luc breathes wetly against Dean’s neck, “Look so good bent over the table like this…”

Luc has fucked him in here a few times, but that always makes the next day ten times worse when he wakes up sleeping on the floor because he couldn’t bring himself to sleep on his soaked bed. At least what happens in the Playroom stays in the Playroom.

_And behind my eyelids._

“Come on, baby, let’s go to the Playroom,” Dean smiles, looking up and over his shoulder through his lashes at just the right angle, “Where we can really get messy.”

The bulge in Luc’s jeans twitches against his lower back.

_Got him._

Luc growls and jerks Dean back to face him, crashing their lips together. He bites and pulls at the Dean’s bottom lip until the boy can taste copper. The man winds a possessive hand into his hair and tilts his neck back to grind marks into the already-mottled, soft skin of Dean’s neck.

“Fuck, baby doll,” Luc sneers, “you keep talking like that and maybe I’ll let you suck my cock tonight. How’s that sound?”

Dean swallows thickly. He lets the grey that’s starting to fuzz out his mind seep into his bones, welcoming it. If he’s lucky, he won’t even realize he’s floated off until he’s sitting in front of his cereal bowl in a few hours.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Over the next month, every time Luc brings groceries he’s got a few new “surprise” items with him. After the underwear he brought a few t-shirts that were about Dean’s size, a second blanket, and two pairs of the kind of sweatpants that get little balled-up fuzzies on them after just being worn once. Still, though, he never tells Dean what all that crap’s for and the boy’s starting to panic. There’s nothing exactly to worry about with the new things...but still. Even though Luc also seems cockier and more excited than usual, Dean can’t help the ice that sloshes in his veins every time he hears that goddamn ‘s’ word. He’s trying to just be glad that Luc has only wanted to play a game a handful of times ever since.

Last night, however, was one of those times. 

Luc had been all riled up when he charged in, dropping a paper bag on the table and scooping Dean up from where he had been sitting on the bed, carrying him off to the Playroom. He’d done that thing with the blindfold that scared the shit out of Dean and made the usual handful of hours Luc spent inside one of his holes feel like it stretched into days.

Now, Dean lies on the bed, in his boxers and no shirt. He’d boiled water for a bath earlier since the tub’s faucet only ran ice-cold, stepping in when it still felt like it’d melt his skin. He hadn’t wanted a trace of Luc left on him. With his bleach-stained towel hung over the back of a chair and the slim headphones hugging his head, Dean lets himself drift. He still has a few hours before Luc will be down. 

Soulful words and easy, moving chords flood his brain. He loves Paul’s voice. Sometimes he’ll sing along, but soft enough so he can’t hear himself. Other times he pretends that Paul is singing just to him. He feels like an idiot when he catches himself doing it--but it’s not like there’s anyone around to judge. He gives himself permission to match a face with the voice in his mind’s eye, but instead of the mini picture of Paul Rodgers and the rest of Bad Company in the cassette case’s little booklet, another face rises to the top. He may love Paul Rodgers voice, but nothing could beat how awesome Robert Plant looks in _his_ mini picture. Dean cracks an eye and grabs out the case he’s looking for and pulls out the insert. He doesn’t really need to look at them for the lyrics anymore since he knows every song backwards and forwards...but he’d rather die than throw them in with the garbage.

He lets a warm breath sweep over his bare chest. It’s an action shot of Robert strutting across a stage, shirt flowing out behind him and slim hips jutted to the side. Robert is all soft lines and shiny, curly hair that still looks alive in black-and-white. Dean wonders if the Robert in the photo is kind. He has kind eyes. Dean hopes he is.

He can feel a flush crawl down his chest the longer his eyes rake over the picture. He feels warm all over and a little tingly low in his belly. His fingers drum over his protruding ribs and he licks his lips. Robert is nothing like Luc. Robert’s singing is incredible and puts Dean to sleep like a baby when nothing else will. Dean hates when Luc kisses him...but he kinda wants to know what it’d be like if Robert did. 

Dean’s hand skims over the valley of his stomach and he lets a finger trace around his belly button. Would Robert’s lips be as soft as his voice? The warmth feels like it’s moving lower. Would he be gentle, unlike Luc? Maybe he’d kiss Dean’s neck instead of bite it and run his fingers through Dean’s hair instead of yank on it. Yeah, that’d be nice.

Maybe he’d go slowly and let Dean kiss him back sometimes. Dean’s hand drags lower and touches over the waistband of his boxers, slipping one finger...two fingers against the smooth plain there. Would he touch Dean just like this? With warm, smooth hands--not calloused ones like Luc’s. Maybe Robert would kiss his cheeks while he gently rubs him over his boxers. Dean’s mouth falls open on a sigh as his hand slips even further down and touches his hot, tingly coc--hardness. A sweet, happy feeling runs up to his stomach when his fingertips stroke over himself and he feels himself twitch. Robert could touch him just like this, kiss him, tell him he loves him. 

Yeah--that’d be _awesome_.

He doesn’t want Robert to hold him down though. He doesn’t want to be held with his hands above his head either. That’d be too much like Luc. Luc always likes to pin Dean down--usually while shoving something in him he doesn’t want anywhere near him and calling him a slut for it. Sometimes he’s holding Dean so tight and putting so much of his own weight on top of Dean that the boy wonders if one day his ribs will just crack. Luc probably wouldn’t stop even if they did. He might even like it and press on Dean’s bruised body if he wants to hear more of the “funny noises” Dean makes in his agony--

A breath punches out of Dean and his eyes fly open. When had he let them fall shut? His hand tears out of his boxers like it’s been bitten, and the hand holding the picture of Robert falls to the bed. It looks glossy and cold now.

He gasps and heaves a few breaths before the burning in his lungs starts to fade. He feels hot tears slide down to his pillow from the corners of his eyes. Scraping the back of his hand over his eyes, he rips the headphones off, plunging him into deafening silence.

His teeth grit and tries to swallow the frustrated scream that wants to claw its way out, but he hiccups around a groan. 

He’s soft in his boxers now.

Dean laughs at himself, but it sounds broken and more like a sob. What else did he expect? This was just like what happened the last time he tried to touch himself. Luc and his dumb, shitty games had ruined whatever nice feeling he’d found then, too.

Even when Luc isn’t there...he’s always still there.

But Robert isn’t.

Dean curls onto his side and brings his thighs up to his chest. Biting on his knee, he muffles the roar of his crying even if it’s just for the sake of his own ears. He shudders with each breath until he feels like he’s vibrating with every sniffle. Eventually, Dean’s whole face burns and his eyes start to dry. Losing himself as a familiar grey wave washes over him, his eyes shut, and he starts to fall backward into nothingness.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

“Dean!"

Dean jolts out of his sleep at the booming voice calling his name. He hears Luc’s heavy boots thumping toward the top of the stairs. 

Luc has never done anything like this before.

Icy sweat pours down Dean’s back. What the hell’s going on? No sunshine backlights the black plastic over the window so it must be sometime in the evening. Shit...did he eat dinner? How long did he sleep?

Dean hears the first door be thrown back and the thud of Luc stomping down the stairs rings in the boy’s ears. He springs out of the bed and flies to the dresser. With hands that won’t quit fucking shaking, Dean pulls on a t-shirt and jeans that sag too low on his hips. Is Luc angry about something? Did he do something wrong?

The second door slams open and Dean sits back down on the bed when a little wave of dizziness hits him. Maybe this is it. Maybe Luc will finally crack and beat Dean to death like he sometimes says he will. Dean doesn’t want to die exactly...but he doesn’t really want to live either--

Finally, the heavy steel of the third door nearly flies off its hinges when Luc barrels through. He seems to take up the entire room all at once.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, cupcake!” he shouts, one hand whipping out to the side in pride and the other hefting a large rolled up blanket over his shoulder, “Surprise!”

Dean’s eyes dart immediately from Luc’s beaming face that looks flushed from lugging whatever that _thing_ is around. Mouth opening and snapping shut in quick succession, Dean takes a step back when Luc thumps forward toward the bed, dropping whatever he’s carrying hard onto the unmade surface. 

It’s not just a blanket, though. Something’s wrapped inside, Dean can tell by the bounce of the bed and internal shifting of whatever it is.

Then Dean hears a muffled groan.

Luc is chuckling, unwrapping bindings from around the blanket that Dean hadn’t noticed before.

“Luc--? Wha--?”

“Well,” Luc throws the ties to the side, hands placed teasingly on the blanket’s fold, “I told you I had a surprise for you!”

Luc throws back the flaps and Dean’s knees almost give out.

It’s a boy.

Luc brought him a boy.


	2. "Dazed and Confused"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song "Dazed and Confused" by Led Zeppelin. PLEASE mind the tags!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so two chapters in two days is not going to be typical for this fic but I just finished editing this one and I REALLY wanted to post it so here we are. The chapter are going to start earning their tags from here on out so please be mindful of that!  
> It's gonna start to hurt, friends.  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

Dean thinks he blacks out for a second because suddenly  he’s sitting in one of the chairs across from the bed and Luc is going on and on about something Dean  can’t bring himself to care much about.

He  can’t take his eyes  off of the boy.

He’s pale in the room’s harsh lights, sweat  beading on his forehead .  Grown-out, raven hair curls slightly at the ends .  His mom was  probably planning on taking him to get a haircut soon .  A baggy t-shirt is all  he’s wearing.

The boy is smaller than Dean, but not by much and  really only in height .  He  hasn’t seen another kid in. ..God , too long, so he has no idea if  he’s younger or older than Dean .  Besides,  Dean’s pretty sure he’s on the small side for his age so he  can’t even compare the boy to himself and get a good idea .  But does it matter ?  They’re both Luc’s now.

Dean’s ears rush with blood and his heart stutters painfully against his ribs .  What does he do ?  He never thought--

_ I thought I was  _ _ gonna _ _ be alone forever. _

Luc turns to Dean with a question in his eyes and Dean pushes himself back into the present.

“Well?” Luc is holding out his hands as if to say ‘ta-da’ and not ‘I just stole another kid to fuck ’. Dean bites his lower lip and his eyes dart between the raven-haired boy and the Devil himself.

“I…” words lodge in his throat .  For the first time in years, Dean  isn’t quite sure what Luc wants him to say .  He’s not sure why Luc did this at all, in fact.

“Come on, sugar,” Luc pulls Dean up from the table and in his dizziness, he falls back into Luc’s chest .  Arms snake around him and greasy lips skate the shell of his ear, “Well, what do you think ?  I got us someone knew to play with .  Isn’t he a fucking wet dream ?  Can’t wait until you see his eyes--bluer than any  I’ve ever seen .  That’s why I picked him actually and, oh, Dean, if those aren’t cock-sucking lips…”

A cold stone forms in the pit of Dean’s stomach .  He wishes Luc and the boy would leave so he could put his headphones on for a few hours until he forgets his own name again.

On the bed, the boy groans .  His head lolls to the side and his eyes  flutter but stay shut.

“W-Why is he sleeping?” Dean hears the crack in his own  voice, but Luc  seems to ignore it.

One of Luc’s hands reaches out and skims over the other boy’s bare knee, caressing it with fingers that look meaty and much too big against his small frame.

“Don’t worry, he’ll wake up soon,” Luc kisses behind Dean’s ear, his cock starting to poke into Dean’s lower belly, “Then we can have a grand old time together .  And speaking of cock-sucking lips...why don’t you give me a nice ‘thank you’ for bringing you a new friend…?”

Dean turns in Luc’s arms to face the man, but his eyes keep darting to the shifting form on his bed . 

“Of course, baby, thank you.”

Luc shoves Dean down to his knees, gripping his hair with one hand and pulling down the zipper of his jeans with the other .  The boy has rolled his head to the side and Dean  can’t help but stare at his slack face and dark eyelashes before Luc yanks his head back in place and pushes into his mouth.

“God, baby doll, that’s right...take all of my cock,” Luc chuckles until he groans, “Always so greedy for it, huh ?  Are you  gonna teach our new  pal here how to suck it like this ?  Show him what you’re good for?”

Luc’s eyes are clamped closed as his thrusts get quicker and deeper, making Dean’s stomach and throat cramp as he gags .  Dean nods as best he can since Luc  doesn’t like being ignored.

Even though he can barely see through his watering eyes, he notices a movement on the bed .  When he looks over, sky-blue eyes are staring back at him .  The boy’s face is  blurry, but Dean feels like  he’s falling into a lake, tipping into deep water that he wants to drown  in.  Luc’s hand tugs on his hair and, oh, he  actually had been tipping over .  His eyes shoot back up to Luc who still seems caught up in how  he’s taking the boy’s mouth.

Dean can feel the blood pooling in his head but the edges of his vision sparkle with black dots .  His jaw hurts .  His tongue hurts .  His whole fucking face hurts .  He uses all his strength to suck Luc harder--he wants this to be over so his body stops burning and he can talk to the new kid.

Luc’s punishing hips start to stutter, letting out a low groan and slapping large hands on Dean’s full cheeks .  Now his cheeks sting too . 

Luc likes when he swallows, so  that’s what Dean does.

When the man finally pulls out and tucks himself back in his jeans, Dean can barely feel his mouth let alone make words come out.

“Alright, slugger,” Luc sighs, hands resting lazily on his hips, “ Daddy’s had a bitch of a day...but don’t you worry, I’ll be back down later so we can give our new little angel a  _ real  _ welcome party.”

Luc winks and Dean suppresses a shiver.

“O-Okay, baby,” he croaks.

Dean stays kneeling on the cold concrete floor, just staring at the closed steel door after Luc has walked through it .  Grey is starting to edge in his brain, and  it’s so tempting to just let himself leave for a little bit…

“ _ Where…? _ ”

The boy’s voice is equally as wrecked as Dean’s, but he suspects  it’s for  totally different reasons \--probably whatever Luc gave the boy is  what’s making him so hazy .  His eyes are squeezing open and shut, looking like  he’s fighting back against the fog in his own brain.

Dean’s on his feet in an instant, pushing through a wave of  lightheadedness , and standing at the bedside .  He makes himself give the new boy space-- he’s probably scared \--even though he really wants to reach out and touch him .  He’s not going to be sure this  isn’t a dream until he  actually touches him.

“Uh,” Dean  can’t take his eyes  off of the little  furrow in the boy’s brow .  He might be Dean’s age, but he kind of reminds Dean of his dad, “H-Hi .  I’m...Dean.”

“De--Where ‘ m I?”

The boy’s hands come up to his eyes and he gives Dean his first clear look yet .  His mouth opens and shut, no more words falling from otherwise chapped lips as  bloodshot eyes dart around the room .  Panic starts to stutter the boy’s breaths and Dean feels bad--he  doesn’t want the boy to be scared .  A  sliver of a memory of waking up to this room so  long ago flashes through his mind’s eye.

“Well, huh, you’re in this room--my room...in Luc’s house,” Dean replies, then adds honestly, “But, I guess,  I’m not sure where exactly Luc’s house is…”

“Luc…?” the boy chokes out and Dean would recognize the beginnings of tears  probably better than anyone on the planet.

“Yeah, but don’t worry !  Hey,  it’s okay--um, buddy .  Luc  won’t be back for a while .  You’re safe with me,” Dean feels a blush on his cheeks but he’s not sure why he feels so nervous .  It’s not like  he’s the one Luc had slung over his shoulder, “What’s your name?”

Brightening eyes and a red, sniffling nose fill up his world in this instant.

“Cas--” The boy’s voice  breaks, and a deep squeak escapes his chest, “I-I  wanna go home…”

Though the boy-- _ Cas _ \--is biting his lip so hard  it’s turning white, Dean can see the shaking of his body and the uneven  heaving of his chest .  Cas draws his knees up to his ribs and squeezes his eyes tight as another  shudder racks through him .  Dean puts his hands in his jean  pockets and looks down at his bare toes freezing on the cold floor .  He  kind of wants to give the boy a hug...but he  doesn’t wanna scare him anymore than he already is.

He rubs the back of his neck, wincing when his fingers brush over a bruise  he’d forgotten was there.

“Don’t cry, Cas,” Dean tries, the tips of his ears turning pink, “It’s not so bad here .  Luc could be a lot worse .  I think he loves us...in his own way, so  he’s not too rough usually .  B-But...if he does get too rough with you, I can take care of it, okay?” 

He’s not sure why he says that last part, but he means it.

His eyes sweep across the room, wondering what Cas sees when he looks at the hellhole Luc keeps him  in.  A hellhole  he’ll now have to share .  His stomach swoops at the thought.

Cas peeks past the slope of his arm and stares at Dean .  It’s unsettling and he feels like a germ under a microscope .  Is Cas  gonna hate him ?  Is he  gonna hate Cas ?  The idea of seeing someone other than Luc, at all hours of the day...Dean  can’t really even wrap his head around that yet.

“Dean…?”

“Uh, yeah, Cas?” Dean shuffles in place.

“Do you live here?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean gives a humorless laugh but does his best to give Cas a small smile, “Luc brought me here, too .  Long time ago, though.”

“How long?” Cas’s eyes are harder than most adults, let alone kids and are rimmed in red.

“Th--uh...Almost three years ago,” he sighs, he isn’t looking at Cas but he can practically feel the boy go rigid, “I was twelve,” he licks his lips and asks the concrete his question, “How old are you?”

Cas’s mouth clicks when he gulps.

“Thirteen.”

_ Fuck--Sammy  _ _ would’ve _ _ been thirteen by now, too, then _ _.  _ _ Wait _ _... _ _ it’s _ _ February already _ _?  _ _ I’m _ _ fifteen now? _

The silence makes Dean’s hairs stand on end .  He opens his mouth to change the subject--he can see his baby brother’s face and he  has to think of something else before his Pop-Tarts breakfast makes its way back up.

“Dean?”

Dean  nods and looks back up to find Cas’s face has drained of all its color.

“What were...what was Luc doing to you when I woke up?”

Shame claws like a flaming, spiky beast in his belly and his breath gets quicker .  It’d been so long since  he’d even felt anything like this...the idea of anyone finding out what Luc has been doing to him  isn’t something  he’d been afraid of in years, but now--

“He wasn’t doing a  _ goddamn _ thing,” Dean says through gritted teeth, but when he looks  up, he  immediately feels like shit .  It  isn’t Cas’s fault .  He just got here, still half high--yeah, not his fault at all .  Dean lets his eyes close and counts to ten, “I’m sorry, Cas .  I just--I don’t…”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas’s voice is soft and wary, but still deep for his age, “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

Something warm fizzles under Dean’s ribs and he lets it stay there  as long as it will last because, God, he  hasn’t felt anything good and real in too damn  long.  He  doesn’t really remember much before Luc, actually .  Which is insane, he had a life before this for twelve years--where did it go?

“Hey,” Dean smiles, “Why don’t I show you around, huh ?  This place  ain’t so scary if you know where everything is.”

Cas gives a small nod and uncurls his legs from his body a little more, “Okay.”

“Alright, awesome, so here--” he gestures behind him, “is the table and chairs .  I never knew why Luc put two chairs in here since he  hasn’t ever eaten here...but I guess  I’m glad for it now .  And over here’s the dresser--” he slaps his palm on the beaten, pressed plywood surface with the boxy TV on top, “We got a VHS player and five movies--there used to be more but after you watch The Jungle Book for the six- hundredth time the tape starts to wear. Uh, not much to say about the dresser though .  Luc bought you your own clothes and  stuff so you  don’t have to worry about having to share mine .  Do you want the top two drawers or the bottom two?”

Dean feels a pang of joy at the question .  He’s gonna share a dresser with someone!

“I have no preference.”

_ ‘I have no preference’? What is this kid? Eighty? _

“Uh, cool...I’ll take the top two  then, if you don’t mind .  And, oh, the alarm  clock’s in the first drawer .  The thing’s almost busted so the middle number blinks .  I  can’t leave it out or  it’ll drive me up the fucking wall .  Y’know ? Next--” Dean takes two steps to stand in front of the counter, sink and camp stove, “ I guess this is the kitchen ?  Food’s over here anyway .  Luc brings us food every handful of days. Cereal, bread, shit like that--”

“Dean?” Cas’s eyes have skidded right past Dean and the counter and have landed on the corner, “Is that...the toilet?”

Pink tinges the boy’s cheeks and it takes Dean another second to figure out what Cas is really asking...and,  yeah ,  that’s the only one (that Luc lets them use anyway) and, no, there  isn’t a stall or curtain or anything for privacy.

“Um, yup,” Dean says, staring at the chipped lid .  He’s never really considered it being in the same room as everything else a problem before .  It  isn’t like Luc sits down here and watches him pee (in this room at least).

“ Oh,” Cas murmurs.

“But, uh, I promise I  won’t look while  you’re going, okay ?  I can put my headphones on--oh !  Holy shit! I almost forgot!”

“Hmm?” the boy’s eyes have gone dewy again .  Maybe Robert and the gang can help Cas feel better ?  It’s the only thing Dean really has to offer.

He sidles up to the plastic table by the bed, sliding the cassette player and all the tapes into his arms .  He spins on his heel and lays them all out in perfectly straight lines next to Cas’s pale thigh.

“You’re  gonna love this, Cas .  Check it out...” he taps each case as he says, “ We’ve got Styx,  _ Desolation Angels _ ,  _ Holy Water _ , uh, Black Sabbath, and just a shit-ton of Led Zeppelin--Robert Plant is __ _ definitely _ my favorite of all these guys, though .  I have no clue why Luc put these down here, but  they've been down here  as long as I have .  Here, listen…” He reaches out the tin metal headphones but stops when Cas flinches away, “uh, sorry...can I...?”

Those baby blues dart between Dean’s own eyes .  Whatever  he’s looking for he seems to find, and he slowly nods, tilting his head ever slightly towards Dean . 

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean places the headphones on gently, as if  he’s putting a crown on a king .  It’s stupid, but he knows  what’s in store for Cas .  Maybe this could even be his new job ?  Maybe they can be the best thing in each other’s life now?

When his thumbs brush the boy’s hair, Dean realizes that  it’s the first time  he’s touched Cas .  His hair is softer than Luc's and  he's so incredibly warm.

_ And  _ _ he’s _ _ real. _

Dean pops in  _ Physical Graffiti _ and clicks play .  Cas is looking at some  far-off point beyond space, time, and Dean’s shoulder as the  muffled sound of Robert belting it out fills the short space between them . 

“So, what do you think?”   
Cas seems to snap back into himself like a pulled rubber band, momentary confusion crossing his face like he’d somehow forgotten where he was. Okay...maybe Dean is projecting a little bit there.

The boy meets his gaze, his smile is small, wobbly, and  doesn’t reach his eyes .  Dean applauds his effort, but the next second the smile dissolves and a watery gasp punches out of Cas .  Fresh tears start to stream down his face and Dean has no idea what to do, how to help .  He  kinda wants to cry  too, if he’s honest.

Cas buckles forward and doubles into Dean’s chest .  Which is...weird .  Nobody has hugged him in years .  Not anyone who  isn’t after something else, at least .  His own exhale is  shaky, and his arms come up to wrap around Cas’s shoulders .  The slim headphones slide down to the boy’s neck as “Kashmir” crackles against Cas’s collarbone.

“Shit--I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean’s voice is small to his own ears, “That was a stupid idea .  Having the worst fucking day of your life and the last thing you  probably want is to listen to is my crappy music .  I just--it’s just been me for…”

Cas’s breath is humid against his t-shirt as he whimpers, “I just  _ wanna _ _ go home _ , Dean... _ please _ ...”

“I know, buddy,” Dean gulps back the knot doubling itself up in his throat, “God, I  wanna , too.”

He  doesn’t like that Cas is crying, but he does like hearing another voice other than Luc’s saying his name . 

_ Been so long... _

Then Cas is shaking but his cries would be almost silent if it  weren’t for his sniffles and the way his shoulders vibrate .  Dean is thoroughly terrified when he reaches his fingers up to card through Cas’s hair .  His mom had done it for him when he was  little and a thunderstorm scared him .  At least,  he’s pretty sure that’s a memory and not something he made up .  He’s sure that any second Cas will bolt from his arms, not wanting Dean’s dirty body anywhere near him .  Cas will push him away, shove him to the ground and call him a  cockslut who’s only good as  an open hole for Luc to dump anything he wants into, who has no business calling himself a kid when Luc has had him six ways to Sunday on every surface in sight--

But Cas  doesn’t do or say any of that...and Dean lets his hand comb through thick, midnight hair until he realizes that Cas has fallen asleep again.

  
  


** |||||||||||||||||||| **

  
  


After  he’s laid Cas back down on the bed--face still splotchy--and wrapped the blanket back around the boy’s waist, he puts  _ Bambi _ on the TV and takes a seat in one of the chairs .  Any other day, he would  probably have put on the headphones and let himself drift--but he needs to hear it as soon as Luc starts down the stairs .  The asshole  definitely won’t wanna wait too much longer to take them to the Playroom since  he’s got something new and shiny to mess with .  Maybe he won’t even want Dean tonight if  he’s got Cas .  Cool  dregs of relief flood Dean’s belly at the thought and he  immediately feels like a monster .  No,  he’s not  gonna let Cas do this alone if he can help it .  How would he feel if Sammy  was in Cas’s place and some fuckhead let him endure Luc all  alone--

_ Nope _ _.  _ _ Moving on. _

He stares at Cas now that the boy with intense eyes  can’t stare back .  He’s still all the things Dean had first noticed...but  it’s different now that  he’s heard him speak .  Cas is squirming a lot less in his sleep this time, and he almost looks dead with how little his chest rises .  Dean checks that he is, in fact, still breathing a few times just for his own peace of mind.

When  _ Bambi _ comes to a close , he sighs. As much as the poor  dude probably needs his sleep, Dean  doesn’t want him to be all confused and warbly when Luc comes down .  Waking up to Luc is never fun.

“Cas?” Dean says quietly .  Cas  doesn’t even stir .  Dean reaches out an arm from his place on the chair and taps the boy’s shoulder, “Cas, buddy? Wake up now…”

“Mother?” Cas mumbles into the pillow Dean had put under his head.

Suddenly, the boy’s body jolts under his hand and Dean’s arm flies back like  he’s been bitten .  Wide blue eyes look up at him, unfocused and unsure before a shadow like death clouds over his features .  His gaze darts around the room and Dean knows that look even though  he’s never seen his own face make it.

_ Still here _ , it screams.

“Sorry, I just--um,” Dean licks his lips, “Luc is  gonna be back soon, I’m pretty sure .  So, if you  gotta ,  y’know use the bathroom o-or are hungry...now’s the time.”

Cas tilts his head and squints at Dean, like  he’s still trying to come back to reality.

“Oh...m-may I have some water?”

“Shit, sorry--yeah, whatever Luc gave you probably fucked up your system, huh?” Dean pads over to the sink, grabbing a chipped mug from one of the shelves under the counter as he goes .  When he hands Cas the mug their fingers brush .  That’s the third time  he’s touched someone who  isn’t Luc in three years .  He almost feels like there should be confetti or something raining down from the water-stained ceiling.

“Thank you, Dean.”

No sooner has Cas taken his first few gulps then Dean hears the first door  clunk open .  His pulse starts racing as always and he can see from the way Cas’s eyes turn to giant moons that  he’s heard it as well.

“Alright, listen to me--Hey, Cas--” Dean grabs Cas’s hand to rip his gaze away from their door, “Whatever he says or does, just go along with it .  You understand ?  Just say or do whatever he tells you, alright ?  You try to fight him and all  it’ll get you is a broken nose .  He just wants you to take it .  The sooner you just let him do what  he’s already  gonna do--the sooner  it’s over .  Got me?”

“What’s he going--?”

“Oh, and, uh...try to relax your muscles, alright ?  D- Don’t ...clench up .  Okay?”

The second door squeaks open and Dean yanks their sweaty palms apart.

“Clen--Dean?”

“You  gotta trust me, buddy.”

The last thing Dean sees before the third door swings wide open is the tiny nod Cas gives him before both of their eyes shoot to Luc’s  cloying grin.

“There’s my two favorite little ragamuffins .  You guys miss me?” Luc slowly sidles up beside Dean, slapping two large hands onto his shoulders and digging his fingers into the muscle in a mockery of a massage, “Of course, I know my baby cakes here did .  God, why so tense, Dean ?  I swear, you carry all your stress in your shoulders .  You  feelin ’ all these knots?”

“Hi, baby,” Dean stares at his knees, wincing whenever it feels like Luc is about to tear the muscle from his bones.

Like  some kind of sixth sense, Dean feels the heat of Luc’s gaze slide  off the back of his neck and up to the boy on the bed.

“So, you two get a chance to chat?” Luc asks around an audible  smirk , “Exchange baseball cards, braid each other’s hair-- y’know ,  _ bond _ ?  Definitely  a good idea ,  seeing as you’re  gonna be roommates now.”

Cas’s face is almost empty of color when Dean finally looks up at him, blue eyes seeking out  Dean’s in silent plea.

“Yeah…” Dean says, gaze never leaving Cas, “We talked some.”

“Good .  That’s good,” Luc slaps Dean’s sore shoulders twice before letting his hands  drape possessively around Dean, “He  _ was _ a little feisty in the car ride over here...Is he  gonna behave like a good boy for us, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes fall back to the concrete.

“Yes, Luc .  He’ll behave.”

“Aces,” Luc grins, “Now I think it’s time we got this party started.”

  


** |||||||||||||||||||| **

  
  


Dean  hasn’t ever tried to fight off the  greyness before--hell,  he’s usually praying for it to take him away sooner--but now that he is,  it’s fucking messing with his whole body .  It feels like the world is passing by in flashes as Luc walks them to the Playroom .  But bright blue breaks up the clouds and pulls Dean back down to Earth every time his eyes start to glaze over .  He hears Luc talking and realizes that he and everyone else is naked now .  When did that happen ?  He also realizes that Cas is grabbing Dean’s hand, crushing it in his .  Such a small amount of discomfort  isn’t usually enough to smooth away the static in his brain--but such a warm, insanely new touch is.

Suddenly, Dean’s brain slams back down into his body.

“--you guys holding hands now ?  N’awww ,  that’s adorable ,” Luc coos with a biting smile when he glances down where they’re seated on a mattress on the floor, “Alright, players .  Cassie, why don’t you get on all fours and show me that tight little hole of yours?” 

Dean can feel the boy seize up where their bare thighs are touching, Dean’s knees taller than Cas’s .  The boy not only looks pale but green, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

When Cas  doesn’t move, Luc’s smile twitches.

“Come on, angel .  ‘M not going to ask again.”

“But--” Dean swallows and turns his most innocent eyes up to Luc, “You haven’t--Can I at least finger him first...baby?”

Luc clicks his tongue and purses his lips like  he’s deciding which ice cream flavor he wants instead of  whether or not he rips a human being’s ass to shreds, “ Mmmm ...I don’t think so, champ .  I want that fresh- outta -the-box, mint condition experience .  Boy’s  gonna be tighter than a  snare drum.”

_ Nonononononoo _ _ \--there  _ _ has to _ _ be something I can do... _

“M-Maybe I can eat him out first, huh?” He skims his fingers along Luc’s bare calf .  The man is already red and veiny between his legs, “No fingers--just my tongue .  You know  I’m good at that .  He’d be all nice and wet for you, baby…” He squeezes Cas’s hand, Cas squeezes back though his features  stay frozen and gaping, “Please, baby... wanna have my turn first,” Dean whines, sure to look up through his lashes at Luc .  If he can just  loosen Cas up a little bit…

“Ugh,” Luc rolls his eyes like a bratty child, “ Fiiine .  But  I’m taking at least one of his  holes, so  I guess  he’ll have to suck me off .  You know you’re  gonna spoil him, Dean, if you keep babying him like this.”

“Huh,” Dean squeezes and  un-squeezes his fists until the tremors go away, “well, guess ’m just a  softy .”

He turns to Cas, springing into action before Luc has a chance to change his mind

“Dean,  wha \--”

Dean claps a hand over Cas’s mouth and tries to make his eyes say everything he  can’t in front of Luc.

_ I’m _ _ so sorry, Cas _ _.  _ _ I’m _ _ so fucking sorry. _

“No talking right now .  Okay, buddy?” Dean waits until Cas gives a small nod before letting his hands drop to Cas’s .  He lifts them  both so Cas is standing before him on the mattress.

Dean hears Luc pull a chair out of the corner and tries not to  flinch when the legs shriek across the hard floor.

“Usually thinking isn’t really your specialty, baby cakes, but this isn’t a bad idea,” Luc chuckles, “Get to see Cassie all blissed out and moaning on your tongue before I fuck him...not bad at all .  Alright--Dean on your back, Cas crawl up and sit on his face.”

The boy’s eyes go wide at the command, staring at Luc, unmoving .  Luc raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, hey,” Dean tilts Cas’s chin towards him before Luc gets impatient and does something worse like get the leather switch out .  Cas’s  glassy eyes dart between Dean and Luc, his grip like a vice on his hand, “N-No worries, Cas .  This is the fun part, alright ?  Just--just please follow directions, okay?”

“ I think you better listen to Dean, kiddo,” Luc shrugs, “Dean listens well--that’s why he’s still  kickin ’.”

Dean ignores the icy feeling sliding down his spine and keeps his eyes on Cas.

“It’s  gonna be good, I promise,” he turns his lips up at the corners, but God knows if it could really be called a smile, “Just, uh, follow my lead.”

_ Fuck, someone kill me _ _.  _ _ Please. _

Dean sinks to the old mattress where it butts up to Luc’s chair, lying back and tapping Cas’s ankle .  A tear slides down Cas’s  face, but he kneels beside Dean’s chest nonetheless, Luc shoving the boy’s shoulders .  Cas is shaking when he grabs Dean’s hand again.

In the corner of his mind, Dean can hear the wet, sliding sounds Luc is making.

“D-Dean, I don’t want to--” Cas murmurs, another fat tear following the first.

“I--” Dean gulps back his immediate reply, eyes sliding over to Luc .  The man’s dark,  beady gaze is on him, “ I’m gonna make it feel so good, I promise .  But, please,  buddy , I need you to listen to me right now.”

_ Please, Cas... _ _ he’s _ __ _ gonna _ _ get pissed soon _ _.  _ _ He can make this so much worse if he wants to... _

Cas--thank God--nods and allows Dean to rearrange them, with his spread cheeks over Dean’s face .  The boy’s face is  burning and his breathing went ragged a long time ago .  Now, so much closer, Dean can feel Cas  shudder every time his chest clenches with a sob that  doesn’t escape his lips .  Dean rubs what he hopes are soothing circles with his thumbs where  he’s holding the boy’s waist up.

“See? Not so bad,  buddy ,” Dean says.

Cas yelps when Dean lowers him back onto his tongue .  It takes all of Dean’s strength to hold the boy’s shaking thighs down and keep Cas from bolting away.

“D-Dean!” Cas squeaks when Dean starts with tentative licks .  Dean’s stomach rolls when he hears the broken note in Cas’s voice.

“Jesus Christ, this is taking too long,” Luc groans before Dean feels him yank Cas’s head forward.

“I-- uuwwhhh \--” Cas’s voice is suddenly  muffled in the man’s lap.

Dean’s tongue picks up pace, arms starting to ache from  manhandling Cas to stay still and jaw already getting a  twinge .  Cas is shivering and trying to pull away from  both of the bodies surrounding him.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and tries to make it good, he really does .  His practiced tongue pokes and prods in all the ways Luc likes, hoping that he can loosen the muscles of Cas’s rim  _ just a little bit more _ …

“God, you’re just taking me like a champ, aren’t you?” Luc chuckles above them, “You sure this  ain’t your first rodeo?”

Cas’s wet,  muffled scream is all the response Luc receives.

Luc clicks his tongue, “I don’t think I  wanna wait anymore, Dean .  If this is how good his mouth is--well, shit…”

Dean’s tongue speeds into double time,  slobbering and  kneading and praying that  it’s enough before Luc is tearing Cas’s ass away from him and flipping the boy around .  When Dean finally sees Cas’s  face, he  has to squeeze his eyes shut until he can breathe again.

Snot and saliva trickle down Cas’s chin, blood turning it pink where it mixes with an open crack on his lower lip .  His face looks swollen and  mottled from the blood rushing to his face .  The eyes staring up at Dean from where Luc has pushed the boy to his forearms are still so bright and blue...but  glassy and broken at the same time.

Dean’s hands go down to cradle the boy’s face where  it’s fallen into his thigh .  Cas’s panting mouth falls open like  he’s about to plead to Dean--but a scream  escapes instead .  Luc groans loud and low above them and Dean  doesn't have to even look to know that Luc just split the boy wide open.

Cas’s red face goes pale and he shrieks, arms scrabbling at Dean’s legs .  His nails bite into Dean’s skin like  he’s trying to claw away from the hips smacking into him at a brutal pace.

“Alright, Cas,” Luc’s voice is  breathy and fucking sing- songy , “Why don’t you show Dean what a natural you are at taking a cock, hmm ?  Since he was so nice to eat you out like that,  I think he deserves a reward.”

Panic tears through Dean’s stomach .  No !  That’s not-- he’s not like Luc !  He just wanted to help Cas not--

“No, I--” Dean starts but his mouth snaps shut at the flames that flare in Luc’s eyes.

“What’d you say to me,  fuckhole ?”

“I-I’m sorry, Luc…”

“That’s what I  fucking thought .  Now,” the man’s tight features smooth out into a  jovial grin, “ I’m giving you a treat, Dean .  Take. It.”

Dean  nods and ducks his gaze from Luc’s .  His eyes sting as he nudges his softness against Cas’s lips .  Cas is thrashing still, and he rears away from Dean’s lap, the betrayal in his face tearing into Dean’s belly like daggers.

“ Shhh ,” Dean whispers, lip quivering, “I’m sorry .  Just take the tip,  buddy ,  that’s all .  Almost over .  Almost over.”

Cas’s face slackens a little and, eyes trying to squeeze the world out, he lets Dean guide an inch of himself between bloody lips .  Dean’s own eyes squeeze tight as the searing, wet heat envelops him .  Luc had only done this a handful of times, and usually scraping along with his teeth to watch Dean  squirm .

He tries to think of something else, anything else that will keep him limp--but fuck, he  can’t help the blood pooling low in his belly .  Drops fall from his cheeks and land beside the fingers he runs through Cas’s hair.

_ You’re _ _ no fucking better than Luc. _

This time, when the  greyness starts to edge his wilding thoughts, Dean welcomes it with open arms.

  
  


** |||||||||||||||||||| **

  
  


He  doesn’t quite remember what happens after that .  He thinks Luc  probably slammed into Cas until the man came, and a selfish part of him is glad he  doesn’t remember that .  He hopes--whatever happened--it  didn’t last too much longer after he greyed-out.

But now Dean’s standing over Cas’s curled up form, back in his--their room .  He’s shaking and staring at the wall the bed is pushed up to .  Dean blinks .  Did he carry Cas in here ?  When did he put his clothes back on?

The lines of bright red lining the insides of Cas’s thighs push the last of the clouds away and Dean bolts to the toilet,  bile and what  remains of his breakfast swirling together in the stained bowl .  As the last of the dry heaves cramp Dean’s stomach, his hand smacks up to the toilet cover and rips off paper from the roll .  He wipes all the sweat and snot and stomach acid off his face .  He slumps back against the wall and closes his eyes through another wave of dizziness .  It passes a few moments later.

He pushes himself up onto wobbling knees and makes his way over to the counter .  Starting a pot of water to boil the stove, he carefully tunes out the  muffled whines from across the room .  Dean grabs one of the rags from the bottom drawer of the dresser, dropping the  blotchy , dark-stained fabric into the clean water after  he’s taken it off the burner.

When Dean can touch the water without stinging his finger, he sops up the rag and brings it and the pot over to the table.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice cracks from  disuse .

The boy’s whole body goes rigid.   
“Pl--please don’t…” Cas hiccups and buries his face in Dean’s pillow. Dean’s heart shatters.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, “I’m not--we’re all done tonight, buddy .  Okay?” Cas sniffles and wide,  bloodshot eyes peek over at him .  The boy’s head drops back down and unblinking eyes stare at the wall again, “I-I’m just  gonna put on a movie and get you cleaned up, alright ?  ‘S usually how I do it .  So, just,  y’know , focus on Brother Bear and I’ll make it quick.”

Cas  remains motionless, gaze not moving.

Dean bites at his ragged fingernails and shuffles to the TV, feeding it the tape and turning the screen toward the bed .  The blue- ish glow of the screen that bathes Cas makes him look like a skeleton.

He works swiftly,  wincing and apologizing  every time Cas’s body seizes in pain .  True to his word,  he’s quick about it and pulls the blanket over the boy’s waist when  he’s done .  He turns away with the pot of pink water, dumping it in the sink and filling it with  suds to soak overnight.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice is  hoarse and makes Dean’s skin  prickle .  He looks back at Cas’s balled-up body, the boy’s back still to him.

“Uh, yeah, bud?”

“Does he...d-does he do that to you, too?”

Dean feels like  he’s choking . 

“Go to sleep, Cas,” Dean mumbles.

“D-Do you like when he does it?” Cas’s voice breaks and turns jagged, “Is that why you...d-did stuff to me?”

He bites his cheeks to keep from screaming at Cas that no, of course he  doesn’t fucking like it--but none of this is his fault .  And his question is so honest and hurt and  _ shit _ , it feels like  there’s a canyon of distance between him and Cas and not just a few feet.

“No, Cas...I don’t like it .  I  don’t like any of it,” Dean feels lightheaded again and lets himself slide down to sit against the counter’s cabinet doors, “and I-I  didn’t wanna do that stuff to you either .  _ Fuck _ , I’m so sorry, Cas, I--”

Dean’s lungs seize up and a sob chokes off the rest of his sentence.

He’s not sure when he squeezed his eyes shut, but when they open again Cas has turned on his side .  Those baby blues are piercing through him and  ruffled , dark hair sticks out around his head like a halo.

“I believe you, Dean.”

Deep, twisted knots buried in his soul  faintly loosen and warmth floods his broken body.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! This was a rough one, but stay tuned! Let me know what you think in the comments :)


	3. "Take the Time"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Take the Time" by Bad Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my word, guys. This is the week. Supernatural is starting again!  
> As always, please be mindful of the tags! This chapter has some graphic content that may be triggering if you don't read the tags first! Be gentle with yourself!  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

It doesn’t seem to get any easier for Cas.

Dean doesn’t much remember what his first days, weeks, or--hell-- _months_ with Luc were like. He also doesn’t remember when he stopped curling his body up into tight balls or at what point thinking about the Playroom only brought up staticky pictures in his mind that left him nauseous but still able to get out of bed. But, somewhere along the line, all that had happened for him. He never realized that half his life is smoke and color and sound without anything real that floats to the surface. Whatever his mind does replay is warped and smushed at the edges, like it happened to someone else. That scrawny, freckled blond boy was the one strapped to the mattress not Dean. That poor kid is the one with half of a too-dry fist pushing way up in him so far he thinks he’ll never stop feeling it. Dean pities that boy--but it doesn’t really seem like it’s him. And Cas is just an open wound throbbing and waiting for an ocean of salt to be poured in. Dean has never been more grateful for the grey.

Cas’s first weeks are spent in near silence. If he couldn’t see the other boy’s shaky body huddled under the scratchy covers, Dean might forget he has another human being in his proximity now. Except, he could never really forget. No matter what Dean’s doing, he’s aware of Cas. Watching a movie, eating his Raman, listening to his cassettes--one eye is always on his new...person. Friend? Are they friends yet? Dean hopes that even if they aren’t now, they will be soon. But it’s kinda hard to make friends with a ragdoll. He makes them food a few times every day (thankfully Luc has been buying a little extra food so they aren’t spread as thin as Dean had feared). He puts the noodles or sandwich or whatever at the table on the side nearest the bed and tries to rouse Cas to take a few bites at least. Sometimes Cas cracks open a glazed-over eye at him and gets up to eat beside Dean, but they’re hardly even on the same planet. Cas stares at some spot on the wall while he empties the food into his quickly-caving stomach before sliding back under the harsh felt nest he’s made on the bed. He always says thank you, though, voice always crackling from disuse.

Dean did show a blank-faced Cas how to boil water for a bath, so at least Cas is somewhat taking care of himself.

He tried to get the other boy to talk the first few days--about himself, about the outside, about Cas’s home, about his favorite superhero, favorite food, _anything_ \--but Cas never gave more than a few word answers. Then he stopped answering all together.

The only time Dean really hears Cas’s voice is in the Playroom but, as hard as he tries, he never remembers much afterward. He knows Cas screams and cries while they’re in there. When he cleans them both up, he’ll hear an echo of wet slides and jiggling slaps in his ears and remember the face Cas made when Luc did this or that to him--but that’s about all. It’s like waking up from a dream every time to find that the carriage has turned back into a pumpkin, the living boy is once again a lifeless puppet.

Sleeping is weird. A good weird, though--Dean didn’t know that could exist. Cas doesn’t say anything when Dean crawls into their shared bed for the night, only shuffles further towards the wall when he feels the mattress dip with Dean’s weight. The other boy starts out each night with a foot of carefully kept space between them that never fails to make something painful twitch in Dean’s chest. Dean says goodnight and Cas sometimes responds but doesn’t other times. He’s found himself leaving the TV on mute more and more. When the volume’s on, he can’t hear all the tiny human noises Cas makes. He can’t hear Cas rustle against the sheet, can’t hear the whoosh of air from his nostrils when he sighs, can’t hear the soft snuffle he makes when his silent crying mercifully lulls him to sleep. And he wants to hear those noises--he wants to hear them all.

Without fail, though, their bodies don’t stay apart. 

Having someone else’s warmth tucked right up next to him, to wake up to someone else’s breathing tickling his neck--it’s Heaven and sunshine and a million other things Dean had begun to believe he’d only imagined in some fever dream and not experienced in his life before Luc. It honestly freaks him the fuck out...but, like, in the best way possible. With Cas, it’s almost like he can feel his skin again. He didn’t even realize he’d lost that sensation until a warm hand touches against his or fluffy dark hair brushes his cheek when Cas inches closer, seeking warmth.

Dean feels...like a person again.

It’s after the first blur of a month (two months? Six?) passes that Cas begins to have nightmares. 

The first night Cas jolts up in bed wheezing and screaming and tearing Dean out of his own sleep, and he’s honestly kind of surprised that it hadn’t happened before. The lower half of Cas’s body is still pressed up next to Dean’s, thin thighs aligned with one another. The other boy is clutching the blanket and Dean’s knee where he sits, and Dean can feel him shaking through his touch.

“Cassh…?” Dean mumbles, wiping the last dregs of sleep from his eyes. Cas seems to startle at his voice, long arms pulling up to cross over his chest and claw into his shoulders. He starts to rock, “Hey, hey, buddy, it’s just me. Alright?”

Dean slowly rises to sit upright beside him, fisting the blankets to keep from reaching out to touch Cas. The last thing he needs is to freak Cas out even more.

The glow of the TV leaves the other boy bluer and sicker looking than Dean wants to think about.

“ _De_ …?” Cas says, voice croaking out of the back of his throat. For the first time since the night Luc flopped the half-naked boy onto his--now _their_ \--bed, Cas is actually looking at Dean and not through him.

“Right here, Cas. Don’t worry,” Dean’s stomach swoops at the dark blue looking back at him, “it was just a dream.”

Cas’s eyes dart around the shadows of the room past Dean and he bites his lip when it quivers. 

“No...i-it _wasn’t_...” the boy’s voice shatters on the last word and his body buckles in on itself until he’s draped over his crisscrossed legs.

“Cas,” Something aching squeezes in Dean’s chest. His lips smack away the bad taste of sleep, “I, uh--”

“I wanna go home, Dean…” Cas’s shoulders shiver under his t-shirt and against Dean’s leg. His resolve melts like ice chips under the sun and soon his hands are lightly rubbing over Cas’s arm and back. The boy flinches at the touch, spine going rigid. Dean immediately starts to pull away, but Cas’s body seems to only follow his hands as they retreat. Holding his breath, Dean slowly lets his palms settle back onto sharp shoulder blades. He feels the boy sigh under him. 

“I know, buddy,” his fingers work in soft circles against Cas’s warm back. Dean’s eyes glance over at the plastic table by his side, “but, uh, I got an idea...if you wanna hear it. It always helps me when I wake up like this.”

Cas’s tangled limbs shift and his head rolls to the side, gaze locking with Dean’s.

“W-What is it?”

Dean lets a smile quirk at the edge of his lips. Cas is talking to him.

“I’ll show ya, but you gotta sit up first,” As though his bones are filled with wet sand, Cas drags himself back up, drooped shoulders swaying slightly, “Alright, here…”

Dean grabs the player off the little table and brings the metal half-loop of the headphones up to Cas’s sleep-mussed hair. Tucking a loose curl behind the boy’s ear, he pops the earpieces on. He can see just well enough in the silver of the TV to be able to tell what cassette is in and thumbs ahead to number three. Dean can hear the slow opening strum of “The Rain Song” start, muffled but still loud in Dean’s ears. As Robert’s floats in, Cas’s blinks begin to get longer. He sways a little. Dean just stares.

Cas’s eyes close again, his head dropping forward before bobbing back up, lashes fluttering open again.

Dean can’t help but chuckle.

“That’s Zeppelin, baby. Gets me every time, too.”

With a light hand on Cas’s shoulder, he lowers their heads back to the shared pillow. Cas lolls to the side and sleepy eyes rest on Dean’s until they finally slide completely closed. 

“Goodnight, buddy.”

Dean doesn’t look away even still, setting the player on Cas’s concave stomach. Dean shuffles an inch closer and takes Cas’s limp hand in his own. It’s so soft. He lifts the boy’s hand up to clutch around the player, curling Cas’s fingers under his own.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

**_Sammy,_ **

**_Hey, kid. With Cas here now, I guess I probably will actually have interesting shit to say. Well, interesting to me at least. Cas is starting to talk to me now and I’m freakin’ thrilled. It was touch-and-go there and I was starting to go bananas just talking to a mannequin...but anyway, yeah, Cas is actually talking to me now. He told me it was his birthday like a week ago and so we kinda had a little party to celebrate. He, uh, he cried for a while that morning which is how I even found out it was his birthday in the first place--but after that we actually had an awesome time. I mean, it’s not like we could go to Disneyland or something, but we made it work. I got him some hot water and he took a bath ‘til he was all prune-y. He even wanted to listen to the Walkman for a bit while I used the warm water after him. Dude really seems to dig Paul Rodgers, too. When I asked which song was his favorite, he scrunched up his nose like a confused kitten but finally said he liked “100 Miles” the best. More Zeppelin for me, I guess._ **

**_Anyway, I made him a PB &J after that and gave him the card I whipped together while he was in the tub. He said he liked bumblebees so I drew some of those--yeah, yeah, I know--and I thought they kinda sucked but, Sammy, you shoulda seen his eyes light up like I’d given him a damn puppy. It was awesome._ **

**_Okay, maybe I won’t have a ton of interesting stuff since that’s, like, all the interesting stuff that’s happened in months. Oh, well._ **

**_June’s coming up soon--Luc forgot to take the grocery receipt out of the bag again and that was apparently on May 21st. I hope you have a good birthday, Moose._ **

**_Your favorite brother in the whole wide world,_ **

**_Dean_ **

Dean looks at the paper, brushing his fingers absently over the words. He lets ribbons of a nice memory dance in his head while it lasts, but as soon as sandy hair, silver triggers, and crimson red start to stain the image he blinks it away. The hair on the back of his neck prickles

When he looks up, ocean blue eyes are peeking at him intently from over the crest of the pillow. Dean’s cheeks start to simmer, and he turns back to the notebook, the letters only swimming before his eyes.

“Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

A discomforting lull fills the air and Dean twirls his pen in his fingers, smoothing and re-smoothing a dog-eared page that’s gone velvety soft. In the corner of his eyes, Dean sees the other boy rise to a seat on the edge of the bed, feet making a little slapping sound when they come to rest on the concrete. The rustle of the sheets and squeak of the mattress springs is louder than a bullhorn.

Dean licks his lips.

“What are you writing, Dean?”

“Uh,” Luc never ever asked him what his notebooks were for, and Dean was never quite sure why. He always figured that since Luc didn’t see bound paper as a threat, he simply didn’t give a shit what Dean did when he was down here when Luc wasn’t. He’d never had to tell anybody what he wrote. Or why.

“Just...stuff, I dunno. ‘M just writing letters. T-To my brother, I guess.” 

“Sammy?” Cas asks with a curious squint.

“Yeah, I--how’d you know?”

The boy’s eyes flash down to a loose thread in the blanket that his fingers pluck at, “You say his name sometimes...in your sleep.”

“Oh,” Dean huffs a laugh, carefully closing the cover of the journal and laying the pen across the worn cardboard at a perfect angle, “He’s--uh, that’s my brother. Didn’t know I talked in my sleep,” Dean’s eyes went wide, “Shit, I don’t wake you up do I?”

A shadow of a smile crosses Cas’s lips before fading back down again. It’s the first one Dean thinks he’s seen on the boy since he gave him that stupid bumblebee card, “Only sometimes. It’s...okay though. I like listening to you when I wake up on my own. I don’t feel so alone, I suppose.”

“I know what you mean, I--well, let’s just say that just about every goddamn little noise you make is music to my ears.”

That mirage of a smile crosses Cas’s face once again.

Whatever cold has creeped into Dean’s ribs and has been holding his body hostage starts to crackle and give way. It’s way, way, _way_ too soon to trust anybody like this...but here he goes doing it nonetheless.

Dean clears his throat.

“Do you have any brothers? Sisters…?”

Dean’s not sure what he was expecting, but Cas’s widening smile is not it.

“Yes, four.”

“No shit, really?”

“They younger or older than you?”

Cas huffs “Oh, yes. Much older than me. Gabe and Hannah are grown-ups, but Michael and Anna go to college still. Gabe calls me the baby of the family and I guess he’s right.”

“Ah man, I can’t imagine having that many people in my family. It’s just me and my mom and dad...and Sammy.”

Cas nods, eyes falling back to the thread, “Gabriel, Hann _ah_ , Michael, and Ann _a_. That’s how I used to remember all their names when I was little. I made it kinda rhyme. We’re all named after angels.”

Dean could feel his own smile tugging at his lips, “Yeah? That’s awesome. What’s ‘Cas’ the angel of? Aren’t angels supposed to watch over something specific? Like be the angel of hope or puppies or stuff like that?”

A soft, warm chuckle bubbles up from Cas’s belly and Dean decides then and there that it’s his new mission to hear that sound again. It’s so much better than a scream.

“You, uh, you call me ‘Cas’...but that is not actually my name,” Cas says.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and he sits a little taller in his seat.

“I’ve been calling you the wrong name for _months_? Why didn’t you--”

“I actually like ‘Cas’ better. Gabe calls me ‘Cassie’. Everybody says ‘Castiel’ wrong anyways.”

“‘Castiel’, huh?” Dean loves the way each letter fizzles on his tongue, “Castiel. Castiel. Yeah, that’s a pretty kick-ass name, buddy.”

“‘Buddy’. You call me that a lot, too,” this time Cas’s small smile spreads across his face like butter on golden toast. _Dean_ did that. Dean put a smile on Cas’s face. His cheeks feel warm and tingly, “I like it.”

“Um, so what’s Castiel the angel of anyway?”

“Castiel’s the angel of Thursdays. At least, that’s what Mother always said. There’s a whole story she used to tell me about him. I haven’t thought about it in a long time, but I always liked how her voice sounded when she told it to me.”

“Huh, you know, when I was a baby, my mom always told me angels were watching over me,” something cold and prickly ekes into Dean’s stomach, “But I’m not so sure about that anymore.”

“Perhaps,” Cas hums. Dean’s insides twist and churn and he’s nearly about to change the subject when Cas speaks again, “Do you believe in God, Dean?”

“Oh,” Not what he was expecting, but okay, “Uh, maybe. I know Mom did since she told me about the angels and stuff, but I don’t really know anymore. If God is up in the clouds somewhere, just watching us and...everything that happens to us--if that’s who God is, I don’t think I want him to exist. I’d rather it was just me here all alone than have s-someone else know I’m down here too and just not giving a damn. Y’know?”

A suspicious stone is caught in his throat and his voice cracks around it. He tries to cough it away but to no use, “Um, how about you? You think God’s up there?”

Cas leans over with his elbows on his lithe knees like an old man feeding ducks in a park, his brow furrowing to match, “I do. Or...I suppose I did. I don’t know either, Dean. I have questions--I have ‘doubts’ as Father would call them. I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore since Mother and Father always told me that people who doubt God go to Hell...but, that doesn’t make sense. I believed in God before and He sent me here. W-Why would he do that if that’s what makes me doubt, Dean? There isn’t fire and demons here but there’s pain and…” A tear spills from the corner of Cas’s eyes but the boy doesn’t seem to notice, “what if this _is_ Hell, Dean--”

“No,” Dean is shaking his head and starting to stand from his chair. For a second there, Dean had seen Cas happy. He doesn’t want Cas to slip away from the land of the living again, “This isn’t Hell, Cas. This is Kansas--or, at least I think we’re in Kansas still. Doesn’t matter. Point is: Luc is the shittiest human being alive--but he’s still just a man. This isn’t Hell, and maybe, uh, maybe God just can’t see underground…?”

Dean lets himself dip down into the mattress beside Cas. The hunched over boy finds his eyes and something with wings thump around in Dean’s chest.

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah, buddy. I think there’s a lot out there we’re never gonna know--God’s just one of ‘em.”  
Cas looks down at his bony, clasped hands but his lips were quirked to one side.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem, Cas,” Dean smoothes a crease in his jeans and forces the corners of his lips back up, “So, uh, do you...want me to call you Castiel? I’m sorry, I shoulda asked--”

“There’s no need to be sorry, Dean,” Cas’s eyes go all soft and squinty. Dean feels his earlier flush creep back up his neck, “I very much like that you call me ‘Cas’. There’s no need to change that. It makes me feel...well, I just like it.”

“Heh,” Dean traces his finger along his own jaw and takes in the ruffliness of Cas’s dark hair. He makes Cas happy, even if it’s just for a second when he hears Dean say his name, “‘Cas’ it is then.”

Cas sniffles but his eyes are bright.

“I’d like that.”

**||||||||||||||||||||**

The clean smell of pollen and a trail of little green blades of grass followed Luc down to the basement one night. 

_It must be getting pretty close to summer_ , is the first thing that had come to Dean’s mind as Luc latched the third door behind him. Then he saw the small paper bag tucked under the man’s arm. So, it was going to be one of _those_ nights.

And it was.

Except...Luc only wanted Cas.

Luc had taken Cas to the Playroom by himself more times than Dean had dared to count, but each time sent curling, rotten waves through his stomach that didn’t die down until Cas walked back through their room and Luc had gone up the stairs. At least then Dean could see Cas with his own eyes--he could take care of him. 

This time was no different. Luc had sauntered in all flashing eyes and toothy grin before he shoved a pale Cas out the door and slammed it shut behind him. Now Dean sits on the bed, headphones blasting until his thoughts are only a whispering current under Dennis DeYoung’s keening voice. One hand clutches the Walkman while the other frays and pulls apart the widening hole in the knee of his jeans. He’d clocked the time the second the door had shut behind Cas and Luc. That was nearly two hours ago.

When his skin starts to itch again and the volume has maxed out, Dean begins pacing. He bounces on his toes and tries to picture Cas as he had been earlier, the beginnings of what promised to be a gummy smile playing at his lips when they tied for the twenty-eighth tic-tac-toe game in a row. Whatever Luc is doing to him, it’s Dean’s _job_ to bring the Before Cas back. Every time they go to the Playroom--but especially when Luc solos with Cas--deep, ragged fear makes him wonder if Cas will just stop talking again like he did for the first few months. They’ve been doing okay so far, Dean thinks. They talk a little here, talk a little there. Dean will put a movie on and Cas will watch the screen too; one will wash dishes while the other dries; Cas lets Dean play him songs and tell him which are his favorites. Cas has even stopped inching away from Dean when he climbs into bed at night, just accepts the shoulder nudging into him or the knee squashed under his own. Dean didn’t know you could starve without other people until Cas’s presence had been set in front of him like Sunday dinner. He just hopes Cas feels somewhat the same.

For now, though, all Dean can do is wait.

When their steel door finally cracks open and Cas stumbles in his glassy blue eyes are fixed on the floor, clutching his clothes over his bare crotch. Dean’s at the doorway in a second, letting Cas slouch into him with an arm wrapped around the boy’s bony waist. Dean barely hears Luc as he zips his pants back up, says some joke he thinks is funny, and slams the door on his way out.

Cas looks like shit, like they both do when Luc is done with them, but--to Dean’s unending relief--no worse than usual. He’s just barely limping, which is a good sign--Luc probably used close to the right amount of lube for whatever was in that fucking paper bag. There are a few purple bruises starting to blossom on Cas’s shoulders and neck, but nothing (new) much lower than that. Dean lets out a slight breath at that. Looks like Luc wasn’t in a hitting mood.

Cas is still quiet but that’s not unusual either. He always is until the next morning. They both are, usually. 

“I gotcha, buddy,” Dean mutters as he eases Cas over to the bed, “We’re just gonna take a load off here and getcha all cleaned up, okay?”

Dean doesn’t wait for a response since he knows there won’t be one. He helps Cas to sprawl on his side with his ass facing the counter, pulling the blanket up over whatever parts don’t need cleaning. Dean gently pulls the boy’s knees closer to his chest to ease some of the pressure, ruffling his hair before turning back to the counter. The water is only lukewarm now, but Dean doesn’t want to hold off long enough to heat it back up again--it’s sterile now. Thank God he still remembers the survivalist bits and pieces of when his family used to go camping.

“You know what I was thinking?” Dean keeps his voice low and gentle as he walks back to his friend with the sopping rag, “You know how you were talking about the monkeys and lipstick?” Dean starts in with the soft swipes of the rag to Cas’s unnaturally pale skin. His thumb makes small--hopefully soothing--circles wherever his free hand rests, “I had no idea they still tested shit on animals. And monkeys? Really? They’re like our ancestors or something, right? They’re basically super hairy humans who can’t talk and we test chemicals on them? That’s pretty fucked up.”

He doesn’t expect Cas to say anything, but the dude still isn’t really blinking, and Dean is starting to get goosebumps.

“Almost done, Cas I promise. Which movie do you wanna put on tonight? I’m kinda in a _Goonies_ mood. What do you say? Aaaand...there ya go,” Dean pulls the rest of the blanket up over Cas’s backside before carrying the pink rag back over to the sink and dumping the pot down the drain, “How about we settle in early, huh?”

Dean grabs a pair of Cas’s boxers from the dresser and sidles back up behind him. The other boy still hasn’t moved. His legs don’t resist, however, as Dean shimmies the fabric up bony hips. Cas’s toes do curl in discomfort, though. He still doesn’t move. Trickles of ice are starting to run down Dean’s spine. Usually, by the time he’s all cleaned up, Cas’s eyes will be dancing around the room, maybe catching Dean’s once or twice even if his mouth doesn’t open. It lets him know Cas is still there with him, not lost in the darkness. But the other boy is still staring at the wall and his stomach is starting to twist.

“Alright, scooch over, buddy,” When Cas doesn’t so much as twitch, Dean carefully slides an arm under the boy’s neck and one under his knees. He hefts Cas’s startlingly light frame up against him, waiting a minute for the roll of dizziness to pass through him. The way Dean holds Cas kind of reminds him of a movie he saw--must’ve been a long time ago--where a lifeguard carried a woman who had almost drowned out of the ocean. She had wrapped her arms around her neck staring at the stranger who had saved her. Then the lifeguard had laid her on the sand and pressed air back into her lungs past pretty lips. 

Dean’s hands feel a little sweaty at the thought. 

He scoots Cas up into the bed, letting him take up the whole pillow as he sets him down. Cas’s head lolls into the side of his chest before he can pull away. Red-rimmed oceans turn up to him, still staring but blinking at least.

“There you are,” Cas’s lip bobs and two clean, tears slide down his temples to the pillow below. Dean keeps his hand on the back of Cas’s soft neck but wipes away the tracks with the other, he whispers, “I know, buddy. I know.”

Without another word, Dean slips under the covers alongside Cas. He switches the TV to mute again and inches as close as he dares. He kind of wants to hold Cas’s hand. Maybe even scoot close enough to wrap an arm around the other boy’s waist. He wants Cas to feel safe, even if it’s just for one fucking second. In the end, Dean’s hands remain hugged over his chest and their shoulders and knees remain the only points of contact.

Cas, with the fleece pulled up under his chin, stares at the ceiling. The glow of the TV catches in his watery lashes. 

Dean’s blinks become slower and slower.

It doesn’t feel like his eyes have been shut for more than a minute before a rasping, breathy sound drags Dean back to consciousness. He distantly registers the absence of kids adventuring in caves and the persistent buzzing of the static on the TV. He rolls his head away, trying to escape into the muffled cloud of the pillow. The empty pillow. His hand grapples out beside him. There’s nothing there. No Cas.

Dean’s eyelids snap open. His pulse skyrocketing in his ears as he slaps at the empty mattress where his friend should be.

“Casss?” he slurs, the word sticky on the roof of his mouth.

Suddenly the choked cry that had woken him up bursts in the silence of the room. He spins in place, toward the sound. There, perched on the lid of the toilet seat is Cas. Dean lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The other boy is still shirtless, only adorned in the boxers Dean had slipped him into. His shoulders are curled over his lap and arms all tangled together. Even in the dim silver glow, Dean can see Cas’s dipped head and knobby shoulders are shaking. 

Feet swinging over the side of the bed, Dean slowly rights himself.

“Hey, Cas, why don’t--” Then something glints in the TV’s light. Something dark like tiny streams crisscross over Cas’s pale skin.

A few drops slide off the tips of his fingers and onto the concrete.

Dean’s lungs clench and he’s flipping on the light switch without taking his eyes off Cas. The boy’s blotchy, streaked face crumples in the fluorescent light as he tries to ball his limbs even closer to himself. The tiny streams are a dark red.

“Nonononono,” Dean’s muttering, down on his knees in front of Cas before he can blink. Cas’s eyes have gone equally as wide as Dean imagines his are, startled as if he just woke up, too. Thin, angry lines scratch across Cas’s skin, blood turning the crescents of his fingernails black. The boy’s hands are curled like claws now, vibrating over the raw cuts.

“De--I--” Dean grabs his wrists and holds them in place, Cas’s own pulse racing under his fingertips.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean’s eyes sting as his own unsteady hand fumbles on the counter above until he’s grabbed the dish towel. He drags it down into Cas’s lap, trying to stuff the cloth everywhere all at once to stop the blood flow, “Ca-as... _why?!_ ” Dean bites his lip when his voice cracks. Cas’s wet hiccup is the only reply, “ _Fuck!_ ”

Dean shoots up, grabbing the counter to steady himself, and pushes past the black dots hedging his vision. He grabs every rag and towel they’ve got and falls back down in front of Cas. His dark blue eyes are too hurt and hollow for Dean to look at for long. He holds the mounded pieces of cloth down on the mess of Cas’s arms and legs. 

“Cas…?” He murmurs, watching as red blossoms dot the cloths’ edges.

“I--” Cas’s mouth clicks when he swallows, “I’m s-sorry, Dean…”

That’s...not what Dean is expecting. But it also kind of is. Either way, Dean can’t help the way his eyes snap up to Cas’s. The other looks...fuck he almost doesn’t even look human. Except the fear. The fear looks very human on Cas. And he looks scared of...Dean? Guilt instantly floods Dean’s veins and he rubs one slightly sticky hand over Cas’s thin bicep.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, I just--” Dean gives a weak smile, “Sorry, buddy you scared me. I’m not mad, okay? I’m not mad, _I promise_. Do you believe me?” Cas’s cheeks are almost colorless, and Dean prays that it’s not from blood loss, “Can you nod if you understand me, Cas?”

The other boy’s head tips forward by a hair, “Y-Yes, Dean.”

Dean huffs out a breath from somewhere deep in his lungs. He doesn’t dare let the pressure he’s keeping on Cas’s lap go as his other hand slides up the boy’s shoulder, his neck, fingers fluttering at the edge of his fluffy hairline.

Dean’s eyes slide shut, and he tips Cas’s sweaty forehead down to meet his own. 

“Please, don’t do that again, Cas,” Dean’s gulp is loud in the small, humid space between them, “I can’t--I don’t wanna wake up one day and find you--”

Cas’s head is already firmly shaking against his, “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t,” he croaks.

Dean’s thumb tucks under the bolt of the other boy’s jaw. He can feel his slowing pulse. He's not quite sure how long he keeps them there, but when he pulls away and checks Cas’s lap, the bleeding has stopped. At least the scratches aren’t deep. Dean takes the splotchy heap of cloths to the sink, dropping most in but wetting one. He shuffles back to squat in front of Cas, gingerly wiping all the dried red away before tossing the rag absently into the sink. He doesn’t even blink when he sees it miss and flop to the ground in his periphery.

“Alright, c’mere,” he says, standing and reaching his arms out to Cas. The boy’s tacky palms grab his forearms as Cas lifts himself onto wobbly knees. Dean holds him steady until Cas shifts his weight on his hips and stands up tall. Dean had thought of the boy as much shorter than him but, standing a breath away, he realizes that they’re eye level and he’s only got an inch or two on Cas. The boy’s eyes have lost their shimmering sheen but look no less incredible. Dean can’t help himself.

He wraps his arms around Cas’s shoulders and squeezes them close. Tucking his chin over the crook of Cas’s neck, something tight loosens in his ribs. A harsh breath puffs out of Cas before he’s melting into the hug, too. Dean counts each breath that pushes their chests together, each sniffle that wets his t-shirt where the boy’s head is buried.

He squeezes the nape of Cas’s neck before pulling back, “Come on, buddy. Let’s get back to bed.”

This time, when Dean crawls under the covers after Cas, he doesn’t force any space between them. Cas’s hand plays with the ribbed collar of his shirt and Dean draws their bellies together with the arm he wraps around his waist. With the overhead lights and the TV now switched off, the pitch black of the room wraps around them like a blanket. Cas’s hand travels up to Dean’s neck, then to the hair that curls around his ears.

“Do you wanna talk about it, Cas?” He can’t see the other boy but he can sure feel him. The chest slotted against him starts to spasm and the warm breath on his cheek chokes, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, though, okay?”

The hand in Dean’s hair flexes.

“The game...that Luc wanted to play...” Cas gulps. When he doesn’t add anything more, Dean hazards a guess.

“Is it about what was in that paper bag?”

He feels Cas shake his head.

“No, when he was...he kept calling me a ‘virgin boy’ a-and…” Dean pulls them an inch closer and Cas’s breathing starts to slow back down, “He said now I’m not a virgin anymore. He said I th-that I was dirty and full of... _him_ , and ‘m just a hole to be _fucked_ and--”

Cas’s voice cuts off with a wet crackle and Dean imagines he’s probably biting his lip.

“Shhh,” Dean says, his own lips tickled by Cas’s hairline. He runs a hand down Cas’s spine, and the boy shivers, tucking his head in against Dean’s, “I want you to listen to me, Cas. Are you listening?”

Cas nods.

“What Luc does, it ain’t the real thing, okay? Whatever he says, no matter how shitty he makes you feel--you’re still a virgin, alright? I don’t know what the ‘real thing’ is exactly, but I think you’d know it if you felt it. I gotta believe that. What he does, all the fucked-up stuff Luc puts us through--that ain’t it,” Cas wriggles in Dean’s grasp and he realizes he’s squeezing too hard, “Does that make any sense? Look, all I’m saying is: if you think you’re still a virgin and wanna wait ‘til you’re married or whatever--you can still do that.”

“But--” Cas’s voice is warm and muffled against his t-shirt, “What he does, it hurts most of the time... _incredibly_ so. But sometimes he’ll t-touch me...between my legs and it--Dean, it feels really good for a second and--does _that_ mean I’m not a virgin anymore?”

Dean wants to smile. Not because any part of him is remotely happy, but well part of him _is_ relieved. He wasn’t the only one. He’d been scared of the same fucking thing.

“No, buddy, it doesn’t,” Dean means it too. This has been an electric current short-circuiting his thoughts for years...but now he knows that what he’s saying to Cas is true, “I mean it, what Luc does doesn’t mean shit. If you want to, someday you’re gonna have sex with a g-girl and it’s gonna be, y’know, your real first time. Luc can’t take that away from you ‘cause _that_ will be the real thing.”

Dean’s fingers twitch on Cas’s back. He doesn’t think his first time will be with a girl. If they ever actually see the light of day again, Dean’s pretty sure he wants to kiss and hug and touch someone who looks like his Robert. He said ‘girl’ to Cas ‘cause...well, he’s not really sure. Cas probably will want to be with a girl when he grows up. Dean’s lip quirks up ever so slightly at the idea of the other boy all decked out in a tux at the altar waiting for a pretty woman in a wedding dress. God, she’s gonna be so freaking lucky to have someone with Cas’s smile.

A soft nose pokes Dean’s neck and breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, buddy?” 

“Do you think G-God still thinks I’m a virgin?”

A white-hot thing like rage lights up Dean’s spine. He wants to kill Luc and kill whoever woulda made Cas worried about something like that. Is the whole world fucking nuts? Why would anyone ever think that sons of bitches like Luc deserved that kind of power over someone else’s life?

Dean grits his teeth but forces some softness back into his voice, “Yeah, Cas I think he does. God might be a dick, but he can’t be that big of a dick.”

All that hangs in the air is silence for a moment before Cas finally says, “Okay.”

Dean is wide awake now, and from the way Cas’s eyelashes flutter and blink against his skin, Cas probably is too.

“Hey,” Dean unfurls one toasty arm from Cas’s back and reaches over to the plastic table by his side. He brings the Walkman and headphones over to them, laying on his back and tucking Cas into his side, “How about we give ‘The Rain Song’ another try, huh? It’s the freakin’ most calm thing on the planet, I swear.”

Dean balances the player on Cas’s hip and fumbles to figure out where to slide on the headphones over Cas’s wild hair. He counts the nub of each button until he feels the bottom one--the ‘play’ button. As the familiar chords break the quiet, Dean hums. Nothing like his Robert to bring some sunshine to his soul.

Cas’s head rests on the crook of his arm, heavy and warm. He’s positive his arm will go numb sometime, but he can’t find a fuck left to give. Cas is here and alive and _here_ and cuddled up beside him.

He hears a shuffle and Cas’s body twists in its side. His cheek pressing into Dean’s shoulder now.

“So whatdya think?”

He can feel Cas smile, “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

Cas’s head is suddenly moving down to his chest, one now-headphone-less ear settling under his collarbone. Over his beating heart.

The boy lets out a long exhale and nuzzles against his t-shirt, both of Dean’s arms coming up to wrap around his best friend. Cas’s hand starts to go limp where it rests on the rise and fall of his stomach.

Yeah--best friends.

“Please don’t leave me, Cas,” Dean whispers into soft, ruffled hair. Sleep-steady breaths continue to puff across his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you'll tune in for Chapter 4 to see how our boys are doing now that some of the walls are dropping between them :)


	4. "Orchid"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title form "Orchid" by Black Sabbath. As always, please mind the tags and stay safe :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three quick things:  
> 1.) I just watched last night's episode and it was had so much domestic fluff (unforutnately, w/o Cas) that I didn't know I needed, so I decided to post another chapter in honor of The End of The End.  
> 2.) Just a side thing you guys have probably already noticed, but all of the songs I mention in this fic are here for a reason--including chapter titles. Not only are they some of my fav songs of all time but either their lyrics or general moods are relevant (and sometimes foreshadowing) to the plot. You can totally understand the story without the songs but they're definitely in my head when I'm writing.  
> 3.) EXTRA CONTENT WARNING: In this chapter Luc says awful, demeaning things about Cas in relation to his self-harming. If this is something seriously triggering to you, you can skip the section between [Luc] "Holding his arms wide open, he smirks." to "'I think--' Cas says." I think this section is relevant to better understanding characters/dynamics but I 100% understand if the is not safe material for you.  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

When Dean wakes up to the silent darkness of the morning, he scrunches his nose and listens to the blood pumping in his ears. His eyes slide open to look at the same ceiling he’s woken up to since forever--except it’s too dark. And the room is too quiet.

Wait, why did he turn the TV off?

His eyes drift towards the other side of the bed and the huddled boy beside him. Cas’s legs are warm where they intertwined with Dean’s. His nose, closed eyes, and fluffy dark hair stick out above the cover of the blanket, near enough that Dean can feel warm puffs of breath on his cheek. 

Oh, that’s right. He found Cas in the bathtub last night. This is the third time in almost two months. Dean prays again to whatever God has his ears on that Luc will trip coming down the stairs one of these days and smash his skull into a thousand pieces. On second thought, Dean imagines that maybe _he’d_ like to be the one to kick him down instead.

Dean lets himself scooch a little closer, eyes never falling from Cas’s face. He wishes he could do something, anything--but he has no fucking clue what that would be. Pushing a loose strand off Cas’s forehead, he admires how content his friend looks asleep. He wants so bad to make Cas feel like this when he’s awake, too. The other boy shifts in his sleep and his fingertips slide out from beneath the covers, coming to rest a mere inch from Dean’s chin. His own hand traces the half-moons of the Cas’s nails.

Sometimes Dean wants to die. He imagines closing his eyes one night with the headphones on and Robert or maybe Ozzy or any of them blasting in his ears as he leaves his body. His soul would float right on through the ceiling and into the sky. For the first time, feeling like he's made of nothing wouldn’t hurt so bad. He’d float away to whatever the hell is next, singing his heart out and leaving everything else behind.

But now, when he thinks about dying, he thinks about leaving Cas. Not just leaving Cas but leaving him _all alone with Luc_. 

Dean doesn’t think so much about dying anymore.

Sighing, he pushes the strand right back out of the way after it slowly falls back down. He tosses back the blanket and sits up, embracing the dizziness until it dissolves before standing up. He tucks his hard length into the waistband of his boxers and shifts the fabric back in place from where it had moved in his sleep. Slipping his t-shirt back on, he pads over to the counter cabinets and fishes the cereal out, grabbing a bowl and a spoon off the towel by the sink. Lastly, he pours the bowl half full so there are still a few breakfasts left for him and his friend and sits at the table. His ass twinges when he shifts on the chair, but the thought is banished before he’s even taken his first bite.

Like every day, the whole day seems to drag on and on until it’s suddenly going too quickly, and the minutes are ticking down until Luc walks through their door. Tonight, Cas is sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed. His hands are slack over his crossed legs. Cas says he’s praying when he does this, but it doesn’t look like any kind of praying Dean’s ever seen. As music flows through the headphones, he watches Cas and the whole world seems to sync up--the rhythm of “That’s the Way” aligning _just_ right with the rise and fall of his best friend’s chest. It scratches an itch in Dean’s brain that makes the way his heart always kicks up just before Luc arrives, into a pleasant squeeze instead.

Then the first door squawks open. 

Cas’s body goes rigid and his eyes widen. Dean pauses the Walkman and tosses it onto the plastic table, helping Cas get up to his feet quickly--careful of the bandages wrapped around his arms. His hands dive back into his jeans pockets a second later. Whether he means to or not, Cas brushes his fingertips against the inside of Dean’s wrist, the sensation rippling throughout his entire body before the boy’s arms drop back to his sides. They stand almost shoulder to shoulder as the third door swings on its hinges.

“Hiya, Dean-o. Hi Cassie,” Luc grins as a whoosh of fresh air follows him, reminding Dean of the underlying mustiness he’s so used to, “How’re my boys doing today?”

Dean takes a deep breath, stepping towards Luc and the plastic Walmart bag in his hand.

“Hi, baby. How was work?”

He reaches to unload the bag and Luc snags it back, smiling when it’s just out of Dean’s reach, “Come on, sweet cheeks. Not even a ‘hello’ kiss?”

Dean quickly pivots his arms and wraps them around Luc’s thick torso, “You didn’t give me a chance.”

Luc ducks down, capturing Dean’s mouth with his own and prodding at his lips until his Dean’s jaw goes slack. When he’s gotten what he wanted, Luc tosses Dean the grocery bag and turns his steely eyes to Cas. Holding out his arms wide open, he smirks.

“There’s my angel-- the fuck is _that_?” Panic zings down to Dean’s stomach and he freezes. When he spins around, he sees it: Cas’s bandages. Fuck, not this again, “Oh my God, did you do that _again_? What? Did the cat scratch you, huh? Isn’t it getting kind of boring by now?” Luc whines.

The man sticks out a petulant lower lip before his face splits back into that shit-eating grin. He strides over to Cas and wraps rough arms around the boy’s smaller frame. After a beat, Cas hugs back.

“Y’know,” Luc sighs and kisses the top of Cas’s head, thick hair muffling his words ever so slightly, “Doing this? Going all teenage-goth-girl is just selfish, Cassie. ‘Oh, boo hoo I have food and shelter and get good lovin’ every night! Goodbye cruel world!’ Really? You’re making me look like the bad guy here,” the boy’s eyes look blankly past the arms still encircling him. Dean wants to laugh and throw up at the same time, “Do you honestly think your life is worth that much? What about _my_ happiness, kiddo? I did so much work to get you here and I give you everything you need...doesn’t that count for anything? You’re the best toy, gorgeous--” Luc’s sharp smile flashes to Dean, accompanied by a wink that makes Dean’s stomach roll, “Don’t worry, baby cakes, you’re always gonna be my main squeeze.”

“Th-Thank you, baby.”

Cold, shark eyes drop back down to Cas who is still crushed against him, “And what about Dean over there?” Dean can feel his stinging eyes widen and dart away before Cas can meet them, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way he looks at you. You’re like his new Sammy Doll and he just wants to ‘protect you’ and brush your hair and play with your accessories-- _if you know what I mean_ ,” Dean’s knees turn to jelly and he stumbles to a seat in the chair before he faceplants onto the concrete, “He wants to keep you with him forever and ever. So, what? You’re just gonna let him find you cold and bleeding out on the floor one day? You’ll probably shit yourself when you die and, to hurt our precious Dean’s feelings even more, he’s gonna have to clean up your filth, too. That doesn’t make you a very good friend, now does it--”

“Luc,” Dean’s voice crackles before he clears his throat. He pushes himself up to his feet, bracing on the chair back until the floor feels even again, “I really missed you today, baby. How about I do that thing you like with my tongue on--”

“Shhhh,” Luc holds out a raised finger without even looking over his shoulder, “Hang on, darling, me and Cassie are having a moment. So, what do you say, Cassie? Are you gonna grow a pair and take your bon-bon-eating life like a man and not go all Edward-Scissorhands again?”

Dean’s gaze drops to his friend’s face, half obscured by a stiff bicep. His face is still near expressionless, which is why the soft words spoken against Luc’s t-shirt startle Dean even more.

“I think--” Cas starts.

“Now don’t go hurting that delicate little brain of yours,” Luc chuckles.

“I think...you’re afraid.”

Lightning rockets through Dean’s body and he feels every nerve light up like the fucking Fourth of July, he finds his knees going wobbly again but locks it down. Luc’s spine goes rigid.

“Come again, fuckhole?” he hisses. Cas squeaks as Luc’s grip turns to steel around him--then the squeak turns to a giggle.

“Luc, baby, how about--” Dean whimpers.

“Shut up, Dean, right this second or I swear to God I’ll make you shove your cock so far back in Cas’s head you tickle his brain with the tip. Sit. Down.”

Dean shivers and his legs feel like they’re about to buckle so he obeys. He doesn’t have the heart to look at Cas’s eyes though he can feel them peering holes through him.

“I said I think that you’re afraid,” Cas’s steady voice fills Dean’s ears, “If you didn’t have Dean or myself...you’d be all alone in the world,” a loud bubbling laugh leaves Cas’s lips, though somewhat gaspy, “If Dean and I die you couldn’t even _pretend_ anyone loves--”

The wind is knocked out of Cas as Luc throws his body to the floor. 

“Cassie, Cassie, you ungrateful little bitch,” Luc sneers and, in a trick of the light, Dean almost thinks Luc’s eyes flash red. His giant arm scoops up under Cas’s heaving stomach, his other hand snapping the chair out from under the table, “ _I_ am not the naughty little cockslut here. And you know what happens to filthy whores who think they have a right to say squat? They get punished, angel.”

Cas’s lithe body is swung around like a ragdoll in Luc’s clutches as he thuds down in the wood chair and throws the boy over his knee. He rips Cas’s jeans and boxers down his legs, revealing his bare ass to the damp air. Dean’s knuckles go white where his hands dig into his knees. He can’t move. 

_Cas needs me. He needs me. He needs me. Why can’t I fucking move?!_

A resounding smack rings in the air as Luc's first blow lands across Cas’s bony ass. Cas goes stiff as a sharp inhale and yelp are cut short. 

“I bet you beg Dean to fuck you all the time when I’m not here. Don’t you!” Luc hisses, another seven slaps raining down up Cas’s pinkening backside, “I bet you beg for him to come inside you so you’re never empty. But maybe…” _Smack! Smack! Smack!_ “Maybe he won’t touch you. Maybe even Dean--who’s no saint himself--doesn’t even wanna touch you. Is that it, angel? Huh!”

Cas giggles have long since erupted into hysterical, screaming laughter that makes Dean want to tear his skin off. Each screech is choppy and laced in wet gasps with every new hit that cuts through the air. His once-pale skin is bright red and almost glowing.

Dean’s vision is greying like mist spreading in from the edges, he slaps his face a few times to try to keep from slipping away. Cas needs him. Even if he can’t tear Luc off him and fly them out of here like Superman--he can do this. He can look for any way to get Luc to calm down. He can still do something!

Dean sinks to his knees beside Luc’s thundering hand, pawing at the man’s waist and the growing lump in his jeans, “Luc, baby, let me take care of--”

Suddenly Dean’s ears are buzzing and the side of his face is burning, the sharp sound of Luc’s hand colliding with his face rings through the air.

“What did I tell you about interrupting, baby doll?” Luc says, half a smirk pulling at his lips. Dean can only hope that means Luc is starting to tire out.

Head pounding and vision swirling, Dean lies limp with his cheek pressed to the cold floor. His blinks are slow and nearly painful. The grey is blotting out nearly everything now, wrapping around his brain like a boa constrictor and cutting off the outside world. But, like twinkling stars against a faded sky, brilliant blue eyes find Dean’s. In some faraway place Dean thinks he feels his fingertips brush the soft cheek a few feet from his own face. The world is blue and grey and numb and untouchable now.

Dean doesn’t remember much after that.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

It’s the _thunk_ of the third door slamming that brings Dean back into his body. He blinks and listens as Luc’s boots clomp up the stairs, fading away into a world that may as well be a black hole with a grocery store for all Dean knows.

They never made it to the Playroom.

A giggle to Dean’s side has him snapping to attention. His breath stutters in his throat.

Cas is bent over kneeling on the ground, shoulders pressing into the concrete, like Luc had been spearing him on his lap and simply pushed Cas aside once he got bored or came. Probably both. The boy’s shirt is rucked down to his armpits and his jeans are puddled at his knees. His ass is an angry red that makes Dean wince. 

Shuffling and dropping to his friend’s side, Dean is already trying to pull the shirt back down and help hold up some of his weight. When did he stand up anyway? Did Luc even touch him at all? He glances at his own body and notices he doesn’t feel any new aches anywhere. That means Luc took everything out on Cas.

_I failed him._

“Hey, Cas,” Dean’s thoughts race as he assesses his friend’s lithe form. There’s nothing dripping anywhere. He glances at Cas’s splayed cheeks--no blood. Did Luc even…? Aside from the throbbing red skin of his backside, it doesn’t look like there’s any more damage. What? Did Luc just give up when Cas kept giggling? Giggling like he still is, “Alright, chuckles. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. Good news is clean up won’t be a big whoop today. How’re you feeling?”

Cas’s pink face looks over his shoulder at Dean.

“I got to him, Dean. That’s why he got angry. I think I hurt his feelings. If the Devil can even have feelings.”

“Yeah?” Dean snaps, “And he coulda killed you, Cas!” When, Cas’s smile fades slightly, Dean sighs, “Look, I’m sorry Cas. I’m just... _pissed_ at myself. I wanted to help you and--fuck, I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Cas’s lips quirk back up at that and he sways a little like he’s going to move. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Dean,” Cas chuckles, wincing as he flops to his side and onto Dean’s bent knees, “I know how he is...but I said what I wanted to anyway. It couldn’t be helped.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean shuffles Cas around to face him and cards the dark, sweaty tangles off the boy’s forehead, “But I _should’ve_ helped. There’s no winning with Luc--but I should’ve tried.”

“Dean,” Cas squints up at him, head lolling into the crook of Dean’s elbow, “But you did. You tried twice to interrupt us and then you even tried to take my place. How was that not helping? I appreciated the effort.”

“Yeah, well--‘appreciated the effort’, who says stuff like that? When did you turn ninety anyway?” Dean huffs. Cas is smiling. How the fuck is he actually _smiling_? Dean’s chest squeezes and his toes tingle at the sight, “If I hadn’t, like, phased out there I could’ve...saved you.”

“Is that where you go?”

“What?”

“You--often when Luc comes down here, you get this look in your eye. Like you’re sleeping but your eyes just haven’t shut yet.”

“I...I do?” Dean had never really thought about what his body was doing while he floated away.

“Indeed--but that’s not the point, Dean.”

“Yeah, the point is I spaz out like that and I’m not there when you need me.”

A soft hand pats Dean’s cheek, the bandage on his arm rustling. Cas chuckles.

“You can’t save everyone, my friend,” A softness warms the eyes that look up at him, “Though you try.”

Dean wants to scrub off the flush that’s creeping up his neck but...he also kinda likes the way it feels.

“Alright, Mr. Miyagi,” Dean shakes his head and can’t help the shadow of a smile that’s starting to dance at the corners of his own lips now, “Let’s get you up on the bed.”

Rising to stand, Dean helps Cas untwist and draw up to his feet beside him. Cas doesn’t make a move to pull up his pants or boxers over his--no doubt--stinging skin. He winces again and leans into Dean’s side.

“Dean?” Cas asks, gesturing down to the tangle of clothing wrapped around his ankles, “Can you help pull these off me?”

Luc’s words flash like a neon sign in Dean’s brain, white-hot guilt bursting in his stomach.

_I bet you beg Dean to fuck you all the time when I’m not here._

Dean blinks.

“Sure, buddy. Here,” he squats at Cas’s side, his friend’s hand resting in his hair to keep balance. One leg at a time, he frees Cas from the pants, eyes laser focused on not looking anywhere but the task at hand. The fingers scritch in his hair, making his spine tingle.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says and, though Dean’s not even looking at him, he can hear the mushy eyes in his voice.

“Uh, no problem.”

He forces his eyes away when Cas hunches up onto the bed on all fours, crawling towards the pillow. When Dean looks back up, Cas is shifting across on his ass to rest his weight on the opposite hip--the blanket mercifully covering his lap now.

He shuffles his feet under Cas’s gaze. He huffs a humorless laugh at his prickling skin, and he looks back down to the ground. 

_I bet you beg for him to come inside you so you’re never empty._

“Would you like to come sit down, Dean?” Cas asks, giving a slight tap to the space beside him.

“Oh, I--No, man, that’s okay--” Dean snaps his mouth shut ‘cause, well, now he kinda knows why he shouldn’t be getting all up in Cas’s personal space. He has a pretty good idea where his fucked-up thoughts might wander to if he does.

“Oh,” Dean’s eyes drift back to his friend’s face. Cas isn’t smiling anymore. He’s pulling at the growing thread coming off one of his shirts and--fuck, he looks like he might start crying, “That makes sense.”

What? ‘Makes sense’? Dean’s brain throws open every file cabinet trying to figure out what he missed. What made his friend’s whole face just drop like that? He said Dean could sit by him, but Dean wanted to give him his space, so he said no...was that all? Cas felt like crying because Dean wouldn’t sit by him? That didn’t--

_Maybe even Dean doesn’t wanna touch you. Is that it, angel?_

“ _Shit_ ,” Dean slaps his palm to his forehead. He’s such a moron, “No, no, no, Cas. Fuck, sorry, that’s not what I meant. _‘Course_ , I’ll sit by you.”

Cas mumbles down to his lap, “Really, Dean, I understand if you don’t--” 

“Nuh-uh, none of that,” As he slides into place beside Cas, his friend’s body instantly leans into his. Warmth crackles like hot embers in his belly, “I just didn’t want to jostle you around and make you hurt anymore ‘s all. You’re my...Cas, alright? I’ll sit by you anytime you damn well want. All you gotta do is ask...unless I’m on the john--then you might have to wait a minute.”

Cas gives a startled huff of a laugh and his head falls onto Dean’s slightly higher shoulder.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Any time, buddy.”

Arms wrapping over Cas’s shoulders, he strokes the soft skin just under the hem of the boy’s t-shirt sleeve. Dean’s cheek drops to the top of fluffy hair, and he bites his lip to keep from dropping a kiss at the crown of his friend’s head.

After a few minutes Cas squirms at his side, somewhat squashed in what looks like an uncomfortable ‘S’ shape in an effort to not put any pressure on his rear end.

“Hey, how about we just lay back? That way you can lay on your side, huh?” Dean asks, already starting to scoot his and Cas’s bodies where they ought to be. Cas nods emphatically and lets him rearrange them until Dean is on his back with Cas tucked under his arm against his right side, head on the bolt of his shoulder, “Better?”

“Much,” he sighs, breath warm on Dean’s neck.

“Heh," Dean feels fingers drum out a rhythm across his ribs, little snippets of words rumbling across his chest. Is that “Tangerine”? What a sap...

“Dean?”

“Mhmm?” Dean hums. Have his muscles ever felt this relaxed? 

“Why do you think people have sex?” Cas’s words are nearly as loose as Dean and the curiosity in his voice gives him a little comfort, “It hurts, why would anyone wish to experience that?”

“For starters, I’m pretty certain Luc does it wrong. I don’t know...some of the stuff he does _almost_ feels nice. Maybe if he actually gave a shit about us, he’d make it feel nice and not just almost nice. Why’d you ask?”

“I mean just think about it, you’re opening someone up and stuffing another body part inside them--why would anyone even want to try that? How can that feel good to anybody?”

“Well…” Dean licks his lips. He’s not sure if he should go down this road but…“It’s probably supposed to feel like it does when you, y’know, uh...touch yourself. And I mean _that_ can feel good, so sex probably does, too.”

Cas’s breath hitches and Dean’s pretty sure his heart racing under Cas’s palm is a dead giveaway that he’s not as calm about this whole conversation as he’s hoping his voice projects.

“So, you...um…do that?” Cas mumbles.

He can feel the boy’s jaw moving with each word and his eyes fix on the water stain on the ceiling.

_Fuck._

“I mean, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?” Dean clears his throat, “H-Have you ever…?”

A beat of silence follows, and Dean wants to kick his own ass. Why are they talking about this?

“It’s a sin to do so.”

Dean chuckles, “That doesn’t answer my question, buddy.”

Cas nuzzles his head closer, like he’s trying to disappear into Dean.

“A few times.”

Another chuckle bubbles out of Dean and he rubs Cas’s shoulder so he doesn’t think he’s being made fun of.

“Yeah? You get what I mean, though? It probably feels good like that. Or it’d feel good to make someone else get all warm and fuzzy, too. I know I could make it way better for whoever I’m with than Luc’s _ever_ made it for me.”

Cas shifts closer and Dean’s hand clenches on his friend’s shoulder before he can force himself to relax again. His stomach is swooping all around and goosebumps are prickling his skin.

“H-How would you make it better?”

A cool bead of sweat drips down his forehead and onto the blanket below. Should he...should he really be telling Cas this stuff? The image of Robert Plant strutting across the stage flashes before his eyes and warmth rushes down to his belly. He can’t help his lips from twitching up into a smile. He’d be so good for Robert. And it wouldn’t be anything like it is with Luc, he’d be good for Robert because he wanted to, not because he had to.

What did it hurt to give Cas something nice to imagine like he had with Robert?

“For starters, I’d be nicer about it. I’d want my...person to feel good and safe and all that first. Not like Luc where I always think I’m gonna have a heart attack when I hear those goddamn stairs creak. I think it’d be nice to do it in a room with a window so we could see the sun. Shit, but that’s probably just me missing sunshine--where was I? Oh, yeah. I think I’d touch him all over first, y’know? All gentle-like so when he looks at me...he knows I love ‘im. And that’s important too, I gotta love him like it’s nobody’s business first.”

“‘Him?’” Cas murmurs and Dean’s cheeks burn with a dark flush.

_Shit, why’d I say that?_

“Uh--I, um... _fuck_ ,” Dean groans, flopping his free arm over his face, “Yeah, ‘him’. Sorry, Cas.”

“Dean,” the boy’s voice drips with impatience as Dean’s arm is tugged away from his eyes. Blue shines up at him as Cas’s slightly smaller hand drapes his arm back down to his opposite side. Cas’s arm remains draped across him, “Stop saying you’re sorry for things that aren’t your fault. Could you please keep talking? I...like it.”

Dean chances a look down but only sees the top of Cas’s hair nuzzling into him now.

“S-Sure. Right, so…”

“You’d have to love them first and…?”

“Oh, yeah. I’d want to kiss them first, too. I mean...I know I’ve kissed Luc but…”

“That doesn’t count, remember?” Cas says, drawing his chin up to rest above Dean’s nipple, “Whoever you’re with--he’d really be your first kiss.”

The words feel hollower in Dean’s ears than when he’d told them to Cas. Sure, he meant that when he said it to _Cas,_ but isn’t Dean already too used up to have a first anything anymore? Cas could get through this and any girl would be damn lucky for him to choose her. The same couldn’t possibly be true for Dean. Guys like Robert...they couldn’t want somebody like him, right?

“Dean?” Dean blinks and finds Cas hovering a little closer, “You looked lost for a moment. Did you ‘phase out’ again.”

Laughter rumbles through him. Cas used literal air quotes. Who even is this dude?

Dean just shakes his head at the squinty eyes he receives.

“I’m good, Cas--really good actually,” he squeezes gently where his hand has slid to Cas’s waist in his movements, giving the boy his most genuine smile, “Yeah, I’d kiss them--but I’d kiss them different than I kiss Luc. I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to pull away. I think I’d just press our lips together and just kinda rest there, y’know? Maybe rock our heads together, put my tongue in _their_ mouth for a change…”

Cas’s eyes are wide and fixed on Dean. Does Cas know he’s licking his own lips? His friend shifts towards him, hovering even closer. Dean kinda needs to adjust the front of his jeans but, shit, if he does that Cas will look down and all hell will break loose. He just prays Cas doesn’t scoot any closer and accidentally...get poked.

Suddenly, the other boy’s hand is sliding down his arm until light fingers skim his thumb. Dean’s hand twitches, Cas’s eyes never leaving his own, like there’s no place else in the universe to look. Then Cas intertwines their fingers and squeezes his hand. 

Oh.

“Would you, uh,” Cas’s eyes dart down to Dean’s lips, “Show me?”

Dean is nodding before he even realizes he’s going to say yes. He squeezes back. Cas’s cheeks have gone rosy pink and, now that the idea’s in his head, Dean wants to kiss every inch of that face.

“C’mere,” he mumbles.

And Cas does.

It takes Dean a good five seconds before he realizes Cas is kissing him. And another two seconds for his eyes to flutter closed and to press back up against the squishy, slightly chapped lips covering his own. Dean finds his free hand sliding around Cas’s waist, not pushing him anywhere, just holding on for his own sake. God this feels...nice. Like sunshine is melting him into the mattress.

“Mmm...Casss…” Dean hums into the other boy’s mouth which parts ever so slightly. 

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas sighs, mouth parting even wider. An invitation.

Dean wants to do this right.

The tip of his tongue skims Cas’s lower lip, and his lithe body shivers. Dean’s thumb rubs a circle over the boy’s knuckles, his hand stroking in tandem along Cas’s spine. His friend presses their chests even closer. Dean dips his tongue gently past the other’s teeth, smoothing over every silky surface, pulling back and smooching in earnest to give Cas breathing room before sliding back in. Their mouths rock together just as Dean had imagined, Cas’s hand sliding up to pet over his cheek.

When Dean draws back for the last time, Cas’s eyelids are slackenly closed and hot puffs of air skim across his skin from Cas’s still-open mouth. Dean’s chest clenches with a bright sparkly feeling that makes him kinda want to giggle and sob at the same time.

His own hand pushes a loose strand off Cas’s sweaty temple.

“How was that?” Dean whispers into the tiny distance between them. Dark blue oceans flash open, a little glazed-over like Cas had been floating away to somewhere distant himself.

“A-Again, please?”

Cheeks nearly sore from how wide his smile has become, he nods and Cas surges forward, crushing them together at an awkward angle. Dean chuckles.

“Easy there, sunshine,” He threads his fingers into thick, moppy hair, “Here...”

Guiding Cas’s head back a little so the press is firm but not rough, he then tilts them more to opposite sides so their noses aren’t smushed. 

Dean doesn’t ever want this to end.

His friend kisses and licks and hums into Dean’s mouth with more drive than he’s ever seen from the boy. Cas is pushing closer, huddling into him like he’s afraid Dean will just up-and-leave. The house would have to be on fire before Dean would even think of putting more than an inch of space between them. A fire...or if Luc came down.

But Luc isn’t here. It’s just them.

“Dean…?”

Dean’s eyes slide open and the wide-eyed, flushed boy above him nearly makes his heart skip a beat. Did he do that? Is Cas like this...because of him?

“Yeah, Cas?” What the fuck happened to his voice?  
“Can we...uh,” Cas’s finger runs over his own bottom lip, like he can still feel Dean there, “You said, after you kiss him...you’d touch him all over…”

Suddenly he’s feeling all matter of dizzy just lying flat on his back.

Did Cas really…?

“Buddy...what’re you asking for?”

Cas’s mouth opens and closes for a moment, but no words come out. Cas looks down between them where his hips hover over Dean’s. How did Dean forget Cas was fucking naked under the blanket? How had that just _completely_ slipped his mind?

The blanket casts shadows over everything, but he can still see the very-goddamn-real outline of Cas’s smaller length hanging down and resting on Dean’s denim-covered hip. The dude’s _hard_.

When Cas’s eyes shoot back up, he looks nearly as surprised as Dean.

“I don’t know, um...” 

When the little burst of surprise in him dissolves, Dean realizes he already knows what he’s gonna do. He wants to give Cas the friggin’ moon--but this will have to be good enough for now.

“Here…” Dean guides Cas back down to his side, turning so they can lie face to face. He shuffles his arm under the pillow so Cas’s head can rest there with him going go numb and gives the other boy a small peck on the lips and his most comforting smile, “There we go.”

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand, eyes still owlish and full of wonder. Slowly he draws their threaded fingers further and further under the blanket, finally coming to rest on the fine downy hair of his warm thigh.

“Can--” Cas’s voice cracks and Dean sees his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps, “I think I want you to…”

This time it’s Dean who guides their interlaced fingers down the remaining few inches, brushing against the velvety hardness between Cas’s legs. Cas shivers.

“Here?” Dean wraps his hand firmly around his friend, fingers reaching all the way around to completely embrace him.

Cas’s eyes squeeze shut, his head bobbing and nodding as his own hand drops away. Dean gives a firm but gentle stroke from base to tip, Cas’s head tipping back on a low throaty sound. His hand scrabbles up to wrap around Dean’s bicep. Dean pumps him again.

“Ahhh... _Dean_ …” Cas whimpers, hips bucking forward a little. Dean steadily works his hand into an easy rhythm--one he knows he’d enjoy himself.

He’s pulsing between his own legs, but it’s barely a registered thought before he’s nosing at the column of Cas’s exposed neck, dotting him with kisses. Cas’s throat vibrates around another soft moan under Dean’s lips. He kisses up his friend’s jaw until he’s tipping his chin back down to meet him, their lips joining together again. It’d been, like, a minute how had he already missed Cas’s mouth?

“How’s it feel, Cas?” Dean mutters between smooches and brushes of tongue. Cas groans and wraps his arm around Dean’s shoulders to draw them even closer, “Say it, please? Say--I need to know you like this, please--”

“I love it, Dean-- _uhhhh_ , love it so much,” Cas’s eyes are still fluttered closed, “Faster, p-please? I’m-- _please, Dean…_ ”

Dean’s hand tightens ever so slightly, now slick with the stuff dribbling from Cas’s slit. His pumps pick up speed and Cas doubles forward with his head burying in the crook of Dean’s neck. Hot, panting breaths shoot electricity down between his legs like he’s touching a livewire. Well, Cas’s writhing isn’t far off really.

“De-- _uhhhh!_ ” Cas screams into his shoulder, thin arms tightening like a vice around him. Dean feels his friend pulse in his grip before spilling over his fingers as he strokes him through it. Cas’s legs jerk and shake, little “ _ooh, ooh_ ” sounds punching from Cas’s lungs when the touch becomes nearly too much. Easing his sticky hand away, Dean’s fingers stroke the delicate skin of Cas’s hip.

“There we go, there we go,” Dean hums, dotting kisses in Cas’s hair simply because he can now, “Did such a good job, Cas. So good for me, buddy.”

Cas’s arms don’t loosen even a little as he pants into Dean’s shoulder, twitching every so often with the aftershocks. Dean dips down to kiss the cute tip of Cas’s ear and lets his head rest atop his friend’s. Finally, Cas’s hold slackens and then falls to hug him lightly.

“Dean,” Cas groans, head finally rolling back to stare up at him with hazy dark eyes and a gummy smile Dean’s never seen on him before, “That was…”

“Awesome?” he can’t help but smirk, skin still searing and tingly.

“ _Profound_ ,” Cas beams and Dean snorts. His mumble of “ _Okay, Mr. Thesaurus_ ” is lost as Cas kisses him, patting his cheeks once again.

Lips drift down to his jaw, copying Dean’s earlier trail as he starts kissing and nibbling at Dean’s neck. Head dropping back, a low moan is dragged from his belly. On one particular swipe of Cas’s tongue in the hollow of his throat, Dean’s hips buck against Cas’s spent length before he can hold himself back.

“Shit sorry, I didn’t mean--” Dean swallows thickly. Bright blue eyes look at him adoringly--well, maybe he’d just projecting--but with a dark glimmer. He certainly doesn’t seem surprised.

“What did I tell you about saying you’re sorry?” Cas says, hand coming to rub the arm that had taken care of him only minutes ago. It inches down further, pausing in the curve of Dean’s hip. His breath caught in his throat, “Would you like me to touch you, too?”

Dean doesn’t think he just nods, a sound way too close to a whimper leaving his lips. Cas smiles in return, hand slipping down, stalling when he reaches the metal button of Dean’s jeans. His hands shoot to fumble his button undone and slide the zipper down. Kissing a small line from Dean’s chin to the shell of his ear, Cas’s touch dips below the elastic of his boxers to wrap a smaller hand around Dean. 

“Made me feel so good, Dean,” Cas murmurs into his ear, “Took such good care of me.”

All of a sudden, he feels too hot, the awesome feeling low in his belly boiling over and sizzling like a sparkler out to each of his limbs. He groans loud and low and pulses in Cas’s light hold, come shooting out of him like a fountain, eyes rolling back into his head. His hips give little aborted thrusts into Cas’s hand as he rides his wave until finally slumping into the bed.

“Did--Did I make you do that?” Cas asks, voice breathy and full of awe.  
“Y-Yeah I, heh, sorry--” Cas shoots him a look at the ‘s’ word and Dean licks his lips, “I mean, yeah you did.”

“How do you feel?” Cas noses at his cheek before dropping a kiss there and pulling back to meet Dean’s eye.

“Honestly? I feel like melted ice cream, dude,” Dean chuckles, “Warm and sweet and…” he holds the hand with Cas’s drying spend in between their already soiled t-shirts, “sticky.”

Cas laughs in earnest, his forehead falling to Dean’s shoulder to hide his grin. Dean kisses the first thing his mouth can reach and hums. 

He can _feel_ his friend smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this (softer) chapter!! As always, I love to hear from you in the comments <333  
> Buckle in for some Hurt next chapter ;)


	5. "Crazy Circles"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Crazy Circles" by Bad Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all,  
> I've got a pretty busy schedule next week so it might be a little longer than a week before I post chapter six sorry :(  
> As always, MIND THE TAGS! This is another somewhat graphic chapter!  
> Take care,  
> Blue

The first morning Dean wakes up wrapped in Cas’s arms, he has one minute of pure, wild happiness. Cas’s small body is so warm against his. Their thighs are slotted together, Cas’s downy leg hairs soft and overwhelming alongside his scratchy ones. Their bony chests breathe as one, pushing together and sinking away. As Dean’s eyes start to glide open, he feels dots of drool on the collar of his shirt where Cas’s slack mouth is pressed against him and he grins at the fucking water-stained ceiling. One minute--then the guilt sets in.

It ripples through his body like hot lava and he’s untangling their limbs and throwing himself out of the bed before he can burn Cas. He gets nearly an hour of dressing and cooking and pacing in before the other boy’s sleep-heavy head pokes out from under the blanket and finds Dean. God, he’s adorable like that. After Cas yawns and palms away the last tendrils of sleep from his eyes, much clearer baby blues look at Dean like he hung the moon. 

His stomach rolls as he sits at the table with a glass of water for himself and a cup of juice for Cas.

His friend shuffles back the blanket, still naked as the day he was born. Dean’s eyes drop to his sweating glass, fingers tapping out a string of melodies at lightning speed before he hears the soft rustle of Cas slipping on yesterday’s boxers. The other boy rises from their bed, leg weak for a moment from a three-day-old limp before he rights himself and stretches onto his toes. Cas’s pale skin is dotted with bruises like Dean’s, stretching over the gentle bumps of his ribs as he dips to each side. His friend’s eyes flutter shut as pops crackle down his spine. Dean’s tapping fingers itch to trace the soft curve of his lashes--which is just creepy, and he damn well knows it. 

A shadow of a smile is already pulling at Cas’s cheeks as he shuffles over to the table and sits down in front of the carefully situated juice. He winces when his backside settles onto the chair.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says. 

Cas looks...happy. It’s not that he’s even smiling, but his eyes are somehow brighter. How can he be so goddamn happy after Dean ra-- _violated_ him last night?

“H-Hey, buddy,” Dean says, “How’re you feeling this morning?”

He nods at Cas’s little wince, but the other boy’s shadow of a smile only grows into a real one. Now Dean’s really confused.

His friend shimmies in his seat, face tightening at what must be a bitch of a sore ass. It makes Dean wince, but Cas just keeps on smiling.

“Good,” A dark blue gaze rakes over Dean’s own body and a flush rises to freckled cheeks, “I feel much better, actually. Thank you...for taking care of me last night.”

Dean’s heart clenches painfully beneath his ribs. Something snarling and mean rears its head, twisting his insides and trying to push up what little of his dinner remains.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean’s eyes fall to his fidgeting hand. The hand that had been wrapped around--

“It was nothing,” he mumbles. But it wasn’t. It was everything to him, the most human he’s felt since...well since he can remember.

A delicate hand with slender digits falls over Dean’s, entwining their fingers and ceasing his restless tapping. Warmth like when Dean first crawls into a hot bath floods his body, wrapping him in a calmness that he wishes he didn’t feel. He’s weak, so weak, and he hates himself for letting Cas _hold his fucking hand_. But he does.

“Really, Dean,” His voice is so caring. It’s tearing Dean to shreds, “Thank you. You bring me a lot of happiness, even in a place like this.”

For a breath, Dean rethinks everything. He could give this to Cas, he could love and hold and touch Cas for as long as it makes his friend happy. He could shove down all the guilt, bottle it all up way deep in his stomach and keep it there until he just dies one day. Maybe if Cas has hope he won’t lose his soul like Dean has. It’s not too late for Cas to go to Heaven, and maybe Dean could help get him there.

But that’s bullshit. Cas doesn’t need anyone to save his soul—and Dean would probably only make things worse. It’s selfish, horrible bullshit, the kind Luc probably tells himself so he can fall peacefully asleep every night with two starving kids held prisoner in his basement.

A shaky exhale leaves Dean’s lips and he pulls his hand from his friend’s. It doesn’t matter what Dean wants. He’ll only taint the other boy. And Cas is so desperate for the good kind of love he probably got from his family, the kind he deserves, that he’d let Dean do whatever he wanted. He’d follow Dean’s lead like a baby cow straight to the deli.

Dean can’t let that happen. Cas deserves better than that. Better than him.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

His friend’s brow is furrowed, glancing at his empty hand in confusion.

Fidgeting fingers spin Dean’s almost-empty glass in place, the laser focus of Cas’s eyes is almost too much. Even though Dean dips his gaze down to his glass, it still feels like those blue pools are going to burn a hole straight through him--like Superman would burn a villain. It’s probably what he deserves.

Dean clears his throat, “I, uh, kinda wanted to talk to you about... _that_ , actually.”

Cas’s head tilts to the side, brows knitting even tighter, “Alright.”

“I, uh...Fuck, I’m not really sure how to say this,” Dean begins. He tries clearing his throat again, but that doesn’t do shit for making him feel any less choked, “W-We can’t do that again.”

Then he makes his second biggest mistake in 24 hours: he glances up at Cas.

“Oh, I--” his friend’s face is ashen and drained in a way Dean can only remember seeing the night they met, “I-I’m so sorry, Dean...I didn’t mean to…” Cas’s breathing picks up into little hitches that have Dean’s eyes widening as the boy’s hand comes up to clutch his shaking chest. His nails leave white indents in his skin, “I-I thought you wanted to--”

Realization strikes Dean’s brain like lightning.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” without hesitation, his hands shoot out to hold Cas’s now-clammy ones, “It’s nothing like that, alright? I wanted to do that--fuck, I _really_ liked it. Okay? We didn’t do anything I didn’t want to, understand?” _And that’s the problem._ How could Cas ever think Dean didn't like what they did? It was probably the greatest night of his whole freakin’ life. It isn’t Cas’s job to look out for Dean, it’s Dean’s job to look out for him. And he failed. Miserably. 

“Y-You…?”

“Wanted every single second,” Dean says firmly, giving his friend’s hands a squeeze. As a quiet moment follows, Cas’s body simmers down to a minor tremble while Dean’s thumbs rub little circles over his wrists. When Cas’s shoulders remain drawn up to his ears and guilt darkens his eyes, Dean pulls out the big guns. One at a time, he lifts his friend’s knuckles and presses a quick kiss to each, keeping the other boy’s eyes the entire time. Sure, he feels weirdly like a Disney prince, but it’s more than worth it when Cas’s rigid frame slumps at the gesture and a sigh clicks out of his throat, “Do you believe me?”

Cas glances once more at their entwined hands and says, “Yes. Sorry I...”

Dean’s mouth twitches at the corners in a weak (at best) smile.

“Now who’s sayin’ ‘sorry’ for shit that’s not their fault?” 

Cas does not smile back, only stares at him like they’re still just one wrong move from stepping into quicksand that will drag the boy down under.

“I don’t understand, Dean.”

Dean almost laughs because, well, he kind of doesn’t either. Except, no matter how much every cell in his body is screaming to scoop Cas up and kiss his cute face until all the doubt and hurt is just a memory--that’s not what’s best for Cas.

“I just think it’s not a good idea, buddy,” Dean licks his lips which feel way too dry in the stagnant air, “We can still be, like, best friends and stuff...but we can’t do _that_ anymore. Okay?”

Cas’s features turn surprisingly neutral. Cold, even, and the longer they stay like that the more it’s starting to freak Dean out. The other boy’s mouth opens, then quickly snaps shut around nothing. The careful blankness of his expression looks like a mask, the cheap rubber kind that could never in a million years pass as genuine. 

_Why isn’t he saying anything? Do I_ want _him to say anything--?_

Cas takes the first sip of his juice with a resignation that makes Dean want to rewind the last ten minutes and watch Cas’s peaceful face sleep again.

“Okay, Dean,” his friend sighs, speaking into his glass, “I-If that’s what you want.”

It’s the furthest thing from what Dean wants.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

There’s nowhere to escape so Dean keeps the TV running the whole day, feeling Cas’s relentless eyes on him every second of it. He manages to keep the two feet of space between them that he deems necessary. He tells Cas it’s best for everyone for a while, though he knows it’s really just to protect his friend.

He makes them lunch, hoping Cas accepts it as a hey-no-hard-feelings peace offering. The other boy takes the Velveeta grilled cheese Dean offers him with the most hurt eyes anyone can express while holding a sandwich. Dean has to look away before Cas can convince him that he has no reason to feel guilty. Of course he does.

After nearly the entire day, Cas has said less than two sentences to Dean but his sagged shoulders and glazed over eyes have screamed a thousand words. Cas doesn’t pray that night, simply lays on their bed, staring at the ceiling until Luc comes. Even through the fog, Dean remembers Cas groaning and crying until Dean snuck his hand out to link with Cas’s.

Once Luc leaves, Cas is silent again. He throws all of his clothes to the ground and cleans himself despite Dean’s insistence that he can help. Every wince and tick of pain that plays across his friend’s face chips away at his heart. Cas just looks so tired, so sad, so hurt…

When Cas climbs into bed, he silently joins their hands and pulls Dean along behind him. Dean knows he should protest, and he’s all kinds of fucked up but...Dean wordlessly slips in behind Cas and pulls his friend into the circle of his arms. 

In the stillness of the basement, Dean draws out tiny sounds from his friend’s lips until Cas nibbles his way to give attention to the sensitive skin of Dean’s jaw. Their hips rock together in a slow, humid rhythm that has Cas crying out when he reaches his peak and Dean moaning on Cas’s tongue when he reaches his own. He kisses the other boy until he forgets to feel bad and lets Cas hold onto him the rest of the night.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

The second day, Dean wakes up with a much sharper twisting in his stomach. Once again, he throws himself from the Heaven of their braided bodies. He dresses, he cooks, he paces, but this time he makes a plan. A better plan. Instead of two feet of space, four feet. Apparently, Cas isn’t safe from his grabby paws with only two measly feet between them, they need four. 

Dean sets out breakfast this time, biting at his ragged thumbnail as he waits for his beautiful friend to rouse. When ocean eyes find him sitting at the table the same way he had the day before they turn squinty. There’s no shadow of a smile this time.

Dean’s gaze doesn’t leave one of the knots in the wood of the table as he apologizes again and promises to keep his distance. 

He knows that what he’s been doing to Cas, touching him like some kind of monster human hybrid has probably harmed his friend in a deeper way than Luc ever could. Cas trusts him and what does he do? He hurts him like Luc does. And the worst part is that Cas doesn’t know enough to be mad at him. But Dean knows better.

Four feet separate them the rest of the day. Dean re-watches all their movies for a second day in a row and _Aladdin_ finally heaves out its last breath and the tape snapes. Dean kinda feels like crying and he lets Cas rub his back and offer condolences (his word) for the lost tape just as Luc bounds down the stairs. 

From the way pain radiates sharp and sore at the same time from his ass, he’s pretty sure Luc pounded into him. But he doesn’t really remember that. The taste on his tongue and the images in his head are far more vivid. Even as they stumble back into their room, he can almost still feel Cas’s hand on his jaw, holding Dean back most of the way so he doesn’t have to take anything but the tip. Dean’s pretty sure he actually did start crying right about then. 

That night, after they’ve scrubbed everything away, Dean wads up his few pieces of clothing and makes a nest for himself in the bathtub. Cas watches him with a wide, watery gaze until Dean squeezes his eyes closed and forces his body to shut down and just go the fuck to sleep. But sometime in the middle of the night, Dean wakes up to warmth tucked in beside him, the bed pillow beneath their heads and the scratchy fleece draped over them. Thin arms snake around him, half his friend’s body smushed against the ceramic and the other half plastered on top of him. Cas snuffles in his sleep and Dean’s will collapses like a house of cards. He kisses Cas’s hair, sighing in relief as he pulls the other boy all the way on top of him so no part of his friend gets cold. Cas presses sleepy kisses into Dean’s cheek, hips rutting against Dean’s thigh in his sleep. He holds them steady until Cas finishes between them with a whimper and buries the soft point of his nose in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean cards his fingers through Cas’s hair. Why had he ever pushed Cas away in the first place?

The third morning Cas wakes up to an empty tub and six feet that feel more like the Grand Canyon separating them.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Then the fourth. Then the fifth. The sixth, seventh, eighth…

One morning, when Cas cracks his eye open and sees the breakfast and Dean’s pensive shoulders waiting for him, he turns to face the wall and burrows back under the blanket. Two weeks and Dean shouldn’t be surprised--this was what he wanted. He’s glad. It’ll be much easier to keep their distance if Cas doesn’t stare at him like Dean shot his puppy. He’s happy.

Cas stays in bed that day. Dean asks him if he wants to watch a movie or play tic-tac-toe with him again, but Cas smiles sadly and shakes his head before pulling the covers back up to his chin. He only rouses an hour before Luc is set to rumble down the stairs to make himself a PB&J. He sits in the chair and faces the wall, giving one-word answers to any question Dean asks him. 

Luc plays a game with them. But for the life of him, Dean doesn’t know what it was once the third door closes behind the man. He remembers pleading blue eyes finding his, and Dean holding Cas’s hand at some point. Cas is silent as he cleans himself down, Dean’s fingers itching to do it for him. 

When Dean crawls into bed behind his friend, Cas shifts closer to the wall, back turned toward him. Dean had kept his distance the whole day, but when he wakes up with only cold blankets hugging his body and Cas curled into an impenetrable ball, his guilt is worse than ever.

Cas doesn’t get out of bed that day either. Or the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that...

**||||||||||||||||||||**

On what will be Cas’s sixth day in bed, Dean's eyes roll open expecting to see his friend’s broadening shoulders across from him. But all he sees is the slate gray wall with all its pock marks and flaws.

“Cas?” Dean’s muscles are slow and stiff to move, only pushing him up to a sitting position after three pops zip down his neck. He crawls to the end of the bed and stretches to flick on the light switch. When his eyes don’t immediately fall on Cas standing at the camp stove or pulled into the table, or, hell, even sitting on the toilet. His brain’s pathways start firing on red alert. He whips around in place and--

There he is. 

Lying in the bottom of the dry tub. Something squeezes in Dean’s bones at the sight of Cas’s black tufts poking out over the top. Sharpness twists his stomach again. 

Dean’s eyes trace over the gentle slope of Cas’s pale nose and... _dark_ eyelids? Since when…? Dean squints and shuffles over ‘til Cas’s whole body is in view…

“Oh, fuck-- _Cas!_ ”

Ripping the towels out of the bottom dresser drawer and hauling the pile over to the tub’s edge, he tears the blanket off their bed and throws it all into the bathtub, climbing in behind it. Cas’s sheet-white body lays splayed-out in the ceramic bottom, chest barely rising and falling enough to see. Bright red, wet gashes are torn into his skin over his arms and thighs. A shard of a broken coffee mug Dean thought he threw out last week that’s stained the same red lies a few inches from his fingertips. Crimson lines streak from his body down to the drain. Dean might throw up, “Nononono...come on, Cas!” 

He sits squarely on Cas’s thighs, heaping the rags and towels and a few of his shirts wherever there’s a new cut. He wraps the whole blanket around Cas’s frame. How does he seem even smaller? He tucks in the edges to keep as much of Cas’s body heat locked in as possible, then he lays his entire frame over the other boy to keep even pressure everywhere. He curls himself tightly over Cas like he can keep the rest of the world out somehow if he holds on long enough. He kisses the cold tips of ears and whispers against dark, sweaty hair, “Come on, Cas. Come on, sweetheart,” he sniffs back his clogging nose and nestles his cheek into the unruly hair he can’t imagine living without, “I need you to wake up... _please sweetheart, please_ …”

“‘Sweetheart’?” a voice beside his ear croaks.

Dean’s face shoots back to look down at glassy blue eyes that take long, droopy blinks.

“Cas!” Dean yelps and crushes their lips together. The hand wound in Cas’s hair rocks their heads in sync, while all Cas can muster are weak kitten licks wherever Dean guides them. Dean’s head snaps back, “Fuck, sorry! You need to breathe, you need to breathe, I just--”

Wrapping his hands back under Cas’s head, he squeezes their bodies together again, swallowing back the lump in his throat and focusing on the breaths rushing against his ear.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas murmurs, nuzzling into Dean’s shoulder.

_Cas is still alive. Cas is still alive._

Drawing away by less than a foot, he squeezes his thighs around his friend’s waist. Baby blues blink at him, less hazy than before, “Never do that again!” he barks, slamming their mouths back together. Where they belong, dammit.

Dean’s not sure how long it takes, but he presses down on Cas like a giant paperweight until finally the cloths have no more new blooms of red. With two hands on Cas at all times he brings Cas to sit up, dropping a kiss to his forehead before surveying the damage. They’re both silent as Dean wets a few rags under the spigot and carefully washes the wounds, Cas biting his lips the entire time. Dean manages to fish out the first-aid kit he’d begged Luc for from where it sits beside the toilet. Where there aren’t Band-Aids big enough to cover some of the longer cuts, Dean wraps everything in gauze and prays that the alcohol swabs Cas’s winces at are enough to keep infection away.

Cas is only in a shirt and boxers, shivering from the drying sweat and the open patches of skin Dean had to lift the blanket off of to bandage. When he’s all done, Dean tucks the kit back in its place and wraps his friend up in the scratchy felt like a burrito. Cas squints at him in confusion as Dean steps out of the tub, steadying himself until the ground feels even under his feet again. His friend squeaks when he reaches back in and scoops Cas up into his arms. The other boy is startlingly light, and Dean resolves to feed him extra over the next few days and hopefully fatten him up a little.

Setting Cas on the bed, Dean grabs the pillow from the tub and tucks it under his head. He doesn’t even give Cas a second to worry that Dean’s going to leave him before crawling up beside him and pulling his bundled-up friend against him. He pushes the matted hair from Cas’s forehead and kisses both of his temples.  
“Dean, I--”

“Nuh-uh,” Dean speaks into Cas’s hair, “We can talk about bees or stars or anything else to keep you talking, but we’re not gonna talk about this now, okay? Pain, fear, any of that is only gonna make this worse--” his words slip into a whisper, “sweetheart, I have no clue how much blood you lost, alright? We need to keep you relaxed and warm until everything stops bleeding, and you aren’t white as a polar bear anymore. Capische?”

“Okay,” Cas rasps, nodding where his head is tucked into Dean’s shoulder.

“So whatdya wanna talk about?”

**||||||||||||||||||||**

After the third time over four hours that Dean checks Cas’s bandages and sees only brown stains and scabs starting to form, he finally lets Cas lay by himself long enough for Dean to heat up some soup for their breakfast (lunch?) and check the clock.

When he brings the steaming bowl back, he props himself against the wall and pulls Cas’s back to rest against his chest. With a slow, uneasy shimmy, Cas settles in the ‘V’ of Dean’s legs and holds the warm bowl in his lap. The other boy puts his foot down, though, when Dean tries to feed it to him. 

As Cas tucks into his food, Dean hooks his chin over Cas’s shoulder and watches each bite go down. He decides he’ll make his friend a PB&J next since the dude seems to love them so much. His hand rests over Cas’s gurgling stomach. Yep, definitely needs fattening up.

“Why are you rubbing my stomach?” Cas’s voice breaks the silence but sounds warmer and more alive now that he’s got plenty of water in him again.

“Oh,” Dean’s hand stills though he’s not quite sure either, “Sorry, bud.”

Cas nestles back impossibly closer and takes the last few swallows of his soup.

“Dean?”

Dean knows that tone.

“Yeah?”

“May we talk about it now?” Cas sets the spoon in the empty bowl with a _clank_ and then the empty bowl onto the bed. Dean’s forehead drops to Cas’s shoulder and he kisses the bare skin. His friend’s body starts to shift under him, and Dean is forced to look back up. Cas now leans against the wall of Dean’s crooked leg. When Dean tries to intertwine their fingers, Cas’s arms snake away and wrap around his ribs. Dean’s stomach drops.

“Cas, I--” Dean’s eyes fall to their laps and he rubs at the blush creeping up the back of his neck, “I’m so sorry, buddy. I’ve been an asshole a-and I missed you--”

“Yes, you have,” Cas whispers, eyes fixed on the snagged corner of the blanket, “And I miss being with you, too, Dean--but whenever I told you that over the past two weeks that didn’t seem to make a difference. You…” Cas swipes a hand over his mouth and Dean can hear the wet crackle. When he looks up again, watery baby blues lined in red search the ceiling for answers. He’s making Cas cry. How the fuck is this better for Cas again? “I didn’t ever feel alone down here, Dean. Not even that first night--I was terrified and wanted to go home so bad I thought I was gonna die--but I didn’t feel alone ‘cause you--” Cas’s voice snaps and frustrated fingers rake through dark hair.

“Cas, hey...please,” Dean tries to wrap an arm around his shaking friend, but the ball of Cas’s body just draws in tighter, “don’t cry, I’m sor--”

“Don’t, Dean,” Cas grits, hands falling away from blotchy features. Dean’s insides twist and his eyes start to sting. It can’t be too late. It _can’t_. He just got his head out of his ass and now…“I-I appreciate you taking care of me,’ Cas huffs a small laugh that doesn’t leave his face looking any happier, “It’s one of the reasons I love you--but I cannot take it if...if it’s all gonna go away in the morning.”

Dean’s brain sputters to a halt. 

_He loves me._

“Cas--”

Suddenly, boot steps thunder above them. 

For a moment, Dean is stock still, unable to get any of his limbs to work. He’s staring at Cas whose saucer eyes snap to him. Even after everything Cas just said, his friend’s gaze is still filled with so much trust, wanting Dean to be there for him.

The crack of the first door has Dean springing from the bed and scrambling to tuck Cas back up in the blankets. Cas squirms, “Dean?”

“Shh, no time,” Dean has no problem using his older kid strength to overpower Cas in this case. The other boy winces when Dean is a little too rough with his wounds, and he wishes he didn’t have to hurt Cas even more. He wishes he could just tell Cas he loves him too. He would wrap them both up nice and gentle, and he’d hug and kiss Cas until the boy believed him.

_But there’s no time._

Harsh steps stomp down the stairs as Dean rolls Cas onto his side so he’s facing the wall. A rush of panic like he’s saying goodbye to Cas forever floods his system. But that’s stupid. He’s not leaving Cas’s side yet, even if it kinda feels like it. 

“Wha--What are you doing?” Cas grumbles.

“Just stay still, okay? ‘M gonna tell him you’re sick. He’ll leave you be--he won’t want to catch whatever you’ve got,” Dean whispers. Before he can hold himself back, he drops a kiss to the crown of Cas’s fluffy hair.

“De--”

“Dammit, Cas,” he pleads, “ _Please_ , buddy. He’s gonna be pissed if he sees! Just listen to me--”

Then the third door is swinging open.

Holy terror shoots down Dean’s spine at the sight of Luc’s messy hair and the fire in his beady eyes. His face is tomato red with a thick green vein that looks like a slug pulsing in his forehead.

 _Looks like he’s already pretty pissed_ , Dean’s brain unhelpfully supplies.

Luc’s jacket is slammed onto the table and he starts in on unbuckling his belt.

“Baby, what’s wro--”

“ _What’s wrong?”_ Luc snaps, the belt dropping to the concrete with a _clank_ that sounds much too loud in the quiet of the room, “I swear to God, the world is _beyond_ fucked up. I mean it was my pitch that won fucking Adler that account. _My_ pitch! Take off those goddamn jeans, fuckhole, before I rip them off,” he growls, throwing his shirt to the ground. Dean snaps into action, undoing the buttons and zipper and letting them puddle at his feet. Goosebumps from the cold air prickle his legs, “But does that mean two shits Zachy? Fuck no! I’m gonna kill the motherfucker one day. You bet your candy ass I will--” then Luc’s blazing eyes suddenly seem to notice Cas’s huddled form on the bed.

Dean’s stomach drops.

“Baby--”

“Get the fuck up, angel,” Luc snarls, shoving Dean to the side when he takes half a step towards his friend, “I am so not in the mood to for our usual fun and banter tonight so--Get. Up.”

Dean tries again, as inconspicuously as possible, to edge himself between Luc and the bed.

“B-Baby, he’s sick, he’s sick,” he says, stroking a hands down Luc’s bare chest, grinding on the man’s thigh. 

Luc’s gaze remains fixed on Cas’s unmoving form. With each second that ticks by that Cas doesn’t answer him seems to only crank up the volume on Luc’s anger, “You little bitch!” With a snap of his wrist, the blanket is yanked from Cas to expose the other boy’s quivering body to the room. Luc practically roars at the sight of the stained bandages crisscrossing his body as he tries to curl into an even tighter ball, “You’re goddamn right he’s sick! Little cockslut’s pretty sick in the head!”

“Ba--” Dean stutters. Luc’s paw slams down on Cas’s ankle, starting to drag the boy’s lithe body toward him and what will no doubt be a beating to open all those wounds back up.

_He’s going to kill Cas._

Even if Luc just wants to beat him, he’ll kill him. Just accidentally, he’ll do it. If all those cuts open again...and Cas loses too much blood…Dean will have to watch Luc carry his corpse back out of the basement the way it entered: wrapped in that stupid fucking blanket and slung over Luc’s shoulder.

With the image of Cas’s blue eyes turned a dead, milky white burning like fire behind his eyelids, Dean does the only thing that comes to mind. He shoves Luc back.

It’s not a hard push, and to be honest, it’s not like Dean’s scrawny buck-ten is any threat compared to the hundred pounds Luc has on him. But fury that Dean’s only seen one other time has Luc suddenly vibrating with the wrath of God. Sharp, hawk eyes peer straight into Dean’s soul and Dean thinks his legs might give out in a second. Then Luc is fisting his hand in Dean’s shaggy hair and hauling him nearly up to his eye level, high enough that Dean has to stand on his tiptoes to keep his hair from being ripped out.

A smirk that has nothing to do with happiness cracks Luck’s thin lips.

“Shouldn’t have done that, cupcake.”

The next moment, Dean’s body is crashing to the floor, ears ringing when the side of his head smacks against the concrete. His eyes are lazy and unfocused when he tries to blink them open. He thinks he hears an echo of Cas yelping, but he can’t be sure. He cries out in pain when he’s jerked onto his back and his shoulder is smashed into the floor. Luc is on him now, his weight crushing the air right out of Dean’s lungs. Dean gasps and squirms but his arms are trapped under unyielding thighs. His head lolls to the side. Grey is creeping in, making his thoughts all swishy and out of order. His eyes fix on the water stain above the bed as he feels a crushing hand close around his neck.

“What the fuck are you trying to do, Dean-o? Huh?” Luc growls, nails breaking the thin skin of his throat, “What? You think you’re protecting him? Like you protected Sammy?” The edges of Dean’s vision are starting to close in on him like a cartoon character looking through binoculars. His lungs are burning and he’s pretty sure the squawking noises he hears are coming from him.

The water stain grew a little bit a week ago when they had a thunderstorm. Cas and he had tried to move the bed away from the wall, but when they realized it was bolted to the floor they’d had to improvise.

Half of Dean’s choking brain registers that the fluffy, haloed boy staring down at him in horror is Cas. He’s trying to smile at Cas, but his face is numb, and he doesn’t really know if it’s working. His friend still looks terrified, so probably not.

_It’s okay, sweetheart. This was bound to happen eventually._

They’d pushed the table into a corner and stacked the chairs in the dry tub, then they’d hauled the mattress down to the ground. It was back before Cas stopped looking at him, so as soon as Dean’s walls had collapsed, his friend had pulled Dean down beside him and wrapped them in the scratchy blanket.

_Don’t get in his way...was bound to happen…_

Fuck. Dean’s eyes feel like they might pop out of their sockets.

The first slam of a fist to his temple steals away any breath he had left. The ringing gets louder and this time he’s sure that that’s Cas screaming his name.

_Tell Robert I love him, but not as much as I love you._

That night Cas had slotted their thighs together, tangling their legs and arms until they were a human pretzel. Cas’s whole body was like a space heater. Just him and Cas kissing each other’s necks and moving together until they fell asleep.

The grey that’s making the world buzz around him starts to fade to black. His left eye explodes in pain and he’s pretty sure his brain is literally dripping out his ears.

_Gonna miss you, Mr. Thesaurus. Can’t wait to tell Sammy I met a real-life angel…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a rough one! But I promise that I am sticking with the Angst with a Happy Ending tag so just hang in there! Thanks so much for reading :))


	6. "Since I've Been Loving You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Since I've Been Loving You" by Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! Can't believe it's been so long since an update! This past week and a half was definitely crazy, but next week is back to normal for me again so it (hopefully) won't be so long until Chapter 7. That's the dream!  
> As always, PLEASE MIND THE TAGS and stay safe!  
> Take Care,   
> Blue

When light breaches his senses, Dean is half convinced that it was all just a stupid dream. Then the pain sets in.

On his second sticky half-blink, a sledge hammer crashes into the left side of Dean’s face and steals his breath away. The  _ throb throb throbbing _ of each and every ache in his limbs makes his entire body feel like one giant beating heart…

That’s been thrown on the floor…

Then stomped on with hiking boots…

Then run over by a semi…

In that order. 

An inhuman sound sputters from his lips as he twitches. His muscles only spasm when he tries to tell them to do anything. Why won’t they fucking listen to him? It only takes a second of this useless twitching before he slumps back down and his fuzzy brain resigns itself to living on the floor for the rest of eternity. 

Out of the blurry edges a sweet sound reaches him, cutting through the fog. A low hum that somehow drifts across a chasm and whispers in his ear all at once.

“ _...The second season I am to know. You are the sunlight in my growing _ ,” Somewhere in his head he knows those words, knows that voice. Fuck, maybe he did die and this is some weird halluciantion before he blips out of existence, “ _ So little warmth I’ve felt before _ \--Dean?” Suddenly, a shadow mercifully blocks out some of the brightness that’s jabbing little knives through his eye sockets. Warm, squishy limbs push into his side and gentle, slender hands lightly touch his face. Thankfully avoiding whatever the fuck is wrong with his left side. Tender fingers seem to find the only places on his cheeks that don’t feel like they’ve been bashed in with a tire iron, “Dean? Dean, can you hear me?”

Oh. It’s Cas.

What’s Cas doing in Hell?

He tries to say ‘Cas?’ but all his cotton-stuffed ears hear is a garbled, “ _ Asshh…? _ ” 

As soon as he speaks he regrets having ever been born. Shards of glass crunch in his throat and send him into a vicious cycle of coughing that leads to absolute agony that leads to  _ even more _ coughing.

The warm limbs are jostling him now and he wants to scream from the lightning bolts of pain that seem to shoot right down to his toes. But, in order to scream, you gotta be able to breathe--and that just isn’t in the cards for Dean right now. His shaky (sweaty as hell) body is being dragged upright, and as much as having gravity on his lungs’ side is helping to slow his coughing down, he really needs Cas to stop moving him or he’s going to throw up.

Before a protest grunt can even bubble up to Dean’s lips, steady arms are wrapping around him and he’s flopped back against the soft wall of Cas’s chest. Neck spasming, he tries to shift his head. His eyelids fight to crack apart, to take in more than just blurs of light. Only one eye rolls open.

Adrenaline crashes back through his veins. Why the fuck won’t the other eye open? Is it gone? Did that sick bastard rip it out of him?

He doesn’t realize his chest is vibrating and his breaths have gone short, and choppy until that sweet voice really is whispering right into his ear this time, “Shh, it’s alright, love. You’re safe now.” 

_ ‘Love’? _

Dean kind of wants to cry but is pretty sure any more pressure in his head and he’ll explode like a goddamn piniata. Those same gentle hands feel like they’re everywhere: stroking his cheek, running down his arms to lace their hands, rubbing little soothing circles over his belly like he’s some kind of cat. It doesn’t get anywhere close to driving the pain away--but Dean hopes the touches never fucking stop.

Dry tongue darting out over equally dry lips, he grits against the ripping in his throat as he pushes a jumble of syllables out of his mouth, “M’ ey’, Assh…?”

“Hmm?” Suddenly the warmth of Cas’s face is right next to Dean’s. The other boy’s soft cheek is a breath away, and for a second Dean completely forgets what he was going to say. Is it weird he wants to nuzzle their cheeks together? That’s weird right? Yeah, that’s weird. Then Cas’s voice is rumbling against his back again, “I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t understand you. What did you say?”

“Maa--” Dean sucks is a deep breath, concentrating on making his thick, aching (What?) lips form around each syllable, “M’...eye...Cassh…”

“Are you asking about your eye?”

Dean nods slightly. A wave of nausea rolls through his stomach and his hands clamp onto whatever part of Cas is closest, “Yea.”

A light touch curves over his left socket, not near enough to hurt but Dean still flinches and the fingers dart away. Dean thinks he feels lips pressing into his temple.

“I-It’s swollen shut,” Cas says, voice quiet even from such close range.

Swollen shut? Luc...Luc beat him so bad he can’t even use his eye? 

His right eye forces itself open, but half the world is gone. Despite the pounding protests in his head, he twists and turns trying to drag the whole picture back. Cas’s face is on his left side and it suddenly feels like the most important thing in the universe that he sees those sky blue eyes again. His head only moves half the times he tells it to, and with a roll of his stomach accompanying it. 

“Dean?”

Cas is just out of sight no matter how much Dean tries to find him. He needs to see him. He needs to see him and know everything’s okay--

“Ca--” in the jumble of aches and pains, Dean hadn’t even noticed the lump growing in his throat. Now he feels like he’s choking for another reason. Chest spasming with whimpers and half formed sobs that he’s trying to bite back, Dean thrashes and tries to turn in Cas’s arms but those arms lock tight around him.

“Shhhh. Please, Dean,” Why is Cas’s voice crackling now? “Ple--you’re going to hurt yourself, Dean. P-Please stop moving.”

“Wan--wanna see…” Even with the knives in his throat, it’s getting a little easier to push the words out. God, he just needs Cas to understand.

_ Need to see you… _

“‘Wanna see’? W-What do you wanna see, Dean? I’ll grab whatever it is, just--just try to stay still.  _ Please _ .”

It’s that final ‘please’ that cuts straight through Dean’s ribs. The way it lilts up, that much closer to breaking down, reminds him of a roller coaster car hitching higher and higher up it’s steep tracks before it plunges down into some dark tunnel.

Dean gives up the ghost, and stops moving. He tries to swallow down the noises that are itching to spill out of him.

“You...see you…” Dean finally mumbles, relief clicking in his throat when Cas gives a surprised little ‘ _ Oh! _ ’ and is suddenly rearranging them again. The movement only makes him dizzy for a second, but it’s 1000% worth it when Dean’s head lolls to the right and he’s met with the bluest fucking eyes he’s ever seen. The knot of his throat pulses but it’s kinda nice for once, like the way it’s kinda nice how his chest squeezes at the soft, sad smile Cas is giving him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” If he hadn’t had his brain bounced around in his skull like a basketball he might feel weird about staring at Cas. The seconds are ticking away, but Dean sure as isn’t going to be the first to look away. Eyes searching over familiar slopes and angles, Dean doesn’t see a single (new) mark. But, when a tentative hand thumbs a strand of hair from his face, the rustling of bandages catches his attention. His breath stutters and he asks, “Luc di’n’t…?”

A light smile pulls at the corners of Cas’s mouth but is strained at his eyes, “No. You…” Cas gulps, his gaze darts down to the collar of Dean’s shirt instead of his eyes, “distracted him. Luc didn’t come near me again. He got frustrated after you s-stopped making any sounds. He went back upstairs,” A tear slips down the other boy’s face and he quickly shoves it away with the back of his hand like it never even existed. Voice no more than a whisper he says, “I thought he hit you so hard that he killed you.”

Dean’s tired fingers don’t work on the first try, but on the second he slides them up to Cas’s chest. His hand taps the warmth of Cas that’s covered by his cheap t-shirt. Solid ribs expand and contract with a shaky breath and Cas’s eyes shoot back up to Dean’s. Something at least in the same species of a smile has the corner of Dean’s mouth kicking up.

“Nah, I’ll live,” he says, “Luc’ll ‘ve to do lot worse th’n that.”

Cas’s brow furrows in seriousness, “Dean,” But, of course, the boy’s rumpled face only makes Dean’s smile grow a little wider, “It’s not funny, Dean. Don’t provoke him.”

Dean would throw back his head and laugh if he wasn’t almost absolutely certain he'd die from it. 

Instead he snorts, “‘Look who’s talkin’. I ‘member you being pretty mouthy to ‘im a couple weeks ago.”

A grin shines in Cas’s eyes, even if his lips hardly even quirk at the corners.

The moment comes to a screeching halt, however, when a wave of nausea comes out of left field and hits Dean like a tsunami. Castiel’s eyes go wide so Dean’s pretty sure face must turn some kinda sickly green. Spasms pummel his stomach and he’s gurgling and gulping and trying to keep from puking his guts out. His vision gets a little fuzzy as he’s being jostled around again until he’s leaning over the edge of the tub and that’s all she wrote. Breakfast and stinging bile erupt from his mouth and splatter against the stained white ceramic. His body spasms and heaves until Dean has a rotten, empty pit in his stomach. He feels like one of those snakes that splits its face in half to swallow eggs, except he also kinda feels like the egg in this equation.

Sweat drips down the point of his nose, making him shiver at the spidery feeling. He’s shaking and fuck if he knows when that started but then warm hands are on his shoulder blades--which is surprisingly the only place on his entire body he doesn’t want to hack off with a saw. Blinking twice he recoils, scrunching his nose at the sick in the tub. His cheeks burn.

_ What a fucking big, strong protector I turned out to be. _

“Dean?” Cas is right next to him again, and shit that’s pretty embarrassing. Dean hunches his shoulders. Obviously, Cas can see all the shit he just spewed out so trying to hide it is stupid and pointless...but still. “Are you going to fall over?”

Dean takes a quick check of his body and, to his own surprise, he feels pretty stable actually.

“‘M good,” he mutters. God, his voice sounds even worse now.

“Are you sure?” Dean nods, “I’ll be right back.”

Then Cas’s hands are gone and Dean’s alone. Again. The one fucking time it’d pay to be dizzy... 

Before he’s had a chance to get the waterworks going again, Cas is kneeling down beside him and wiping a rag over his sour lips. The rag itself is kinda sour but Dean barely notices over the tingles in his stomach. Then a glass of water is nudging his lips and Dean lifts his hand to take it but the movement makes him all tippy again and he’s forced to grab back onto the tub. Cas’s other hand wraps over his arm, secure and warm.

“I can…” Dean kinda wants to put up a fight ‘cause he’s fucking fifteen and can hold his own glass. But then Cas’s fingers slide up and cup the back of his head and, okay, maybe there’s worse things than Cas babying him a little.

“I’ve got it, Dean. Now take a sip and spit,” Cas instructs, thumb lightly skimming the nape of his neck.

On any other day Dean might reply with a snappy ‘Aye, aye, Captain’--but this isn’t a snappy ‘Aye, aye, Captain’ kinda day. Instead, he does as told, swishing the blissfully cool water around his mouth before spitting it out and it’s insane how much better getting rid of that shitty taste makes him feel. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and suddenly all he wants is to crawl in bed and sleep for the next decade. Preferably with Cas’s head on his chest and the blankets pulled up to their chins. Yeah, that’d be awesome right about now.

Cas raises the glass back up to Dean’s mouth, “Take another sip and swallow this time,” Dean gives in without a hoot of protest and happily downs a few glugs before Cas is pulling the glass away, “How do you feel? Do you need to vomit again?”

Dean lets his eyes fall shut for a second and takes an internal inventory. Everything still hurts like a mother but, no, the nausea doesn’t feel like it’s biting at his heels anymore so it looks like that little exercise of his abs got it out of his system for now. He shakes his head.

Then the glass disappears into his left side void and the hand cupping his head slips back down to his shoulder blades and rubs small circles. Forget the bed, he could probably pass out right here.

The tub’s faucet splashes on and Dean watches the mess swirl down the drain, Cas dumping water at the edges to make sure it all goes down. Thank God he doesn’t have a mirror, but if he did, he’d see the tips of his ears turn pink.

“Bed...pls,” Dean grunts ‘cause he’s half past give a fuck and this day needs to end already.

“Not yet,” Castiel says as he puts the plug in the drain once the tub is vomit-less again, “There’s vomit on your clothes, Dean. We’re getting you cleaned up first.”

Now Dean really wants to die. First Cas has to watch him spill his guts and now the poor dude has to clean Dean’s sorry ass like he’s a kindergartener or something. 

“‘M good,” Dean mumbles even though the other boy’s voice hadn’t left any room for argument, “Just nee’ new shirt.”

Cas is shuffling by the counter somewhere, probably getting the water boiling, “The warm water will help your muscles, too. You’re taking a bath, Dean. That’s not a question. Just relax for the moment.”

Dean huffs because isn’t he supposed to be the oldest here? The one in charge? But also, now that Cas has pointed it out, Dean feels the hot, tacky fabric sticking to his chest. Plus, it’s not like it’s fair to Cas for Dean to reek to high Heavens since the other boy is forced to share a bed with him.

Dean slumps against the tub and accepts his fate.

For the next hour, Cas boils pot after pot of water, carefully dumping each in as Dean uselessly watches the water level slowly rise. At one point Cas takes a break while the water starts bubbling to help Dean brush his teeth with more of that holding-his-glass-for-him nonsense. Dean absolutely doesn’t blush when Cas’s thumb meticulously skim along his bottom lip to wipe away toothpaste that hadn’t made it into the spitting-glass Cas brought. Nope. Not at all.

Once the tub is as full as it can be before the water starts getting too cold, Cas drops to his knees beside Dean. They have him propped with his back against the tub now and with a little rearranging and a lot of painful grunts, they manage to pull Dean’s fucked up t-hirt over his head. He’s sweating by the end of it but not having cold throw-up sticking to him anymore does feel unbelievably better. His fingers drop down the button and zipper of his jeans before Cas gets a chance ‘cause whatever Mother Hen switch got flipped in the other boy’s brain, Cas is pretty boundary-less right now. 

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters when his butter fingers and wonky eyesight make it feel like he’s trying to undo the fastening while balancing on a unicycle. 

“Let me,” Cas sighs. When Dean tries to shoot a glare his direction, though, he sees that fucking shadow of a smile that has all the fight draining out of him in an instant. He’s more than happy to keep on being an idiot if Cas keeps being cute like that, “Lift up.”

Dean’s arms are a little shaky, but he manages to lift his ass off the ground long enough for Cas to tug the jeans and boxers off. Last are the socks. And as he’s stripped of the last thread on him, the obvious suddenly dawns on him: he’s sittin’ totally naked, junk hanging out and everything, and Cas is about to give him a bath. It’s not like Dean’s birthday suit is anything new to Cas, they usually only see each other like this under...well, pretty fucked up circumstances. The other boy doesn’t seem bothered as he shoves the pile of clothes to the side and glances back up. He’s not unaffected though, if the little spots of pink on his cheeks is anything to go by.

Dean’s own eyes drop down to his body, wondering what Cas must see when he looks at him. His ribs jut out under white skin that hasn’t seen the sun in years. He’s pastey and there’s no nicer way to say that. His skin is mottled with bruises, hickies, bitemarks, and scabs, a whole fucked up rainbow of colors at different stages of healing. People throw away apples less bruised than him, for chrissake. 

What the fuck was he doing ever thinking he deserved Cas?

Dean shivers in the cool basement air, fidgeting a little under Cas’s eye. The movement seems to snap the other boy out of whatever thoughts he’d fallen into and he blinks back to the present.

“Mind if we get this over with?” Dean grumbles.

“Of course, Dean,” Cas nods.

It’s another whole big process to help Dean climb over the tub’s edge without bashing his head in a fit of dizziness. A groan of relief punches out of him the second sinks into the encompassing heat of the water. He feels weightless and warm and fucking soft. He’s not even sure where that last sensation comes from but he ain’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He tips his head back against the lip of the tub, headache subsiding ever so slightly as his muscles begin to relax into pudding.

“Oh, Cas,” he sighs heavily, cracking one good eye to look at his friend, “Bes’. Idea. Ever.”

Cas had helped hold him up, hands on his biceps to keep him upright as he’d dipped into the awesome bath and the other boy’s hands still linger, squeezing a little before pulling away and flashing Dean a gummy smile. Dean’s arms suddenly feel cold despite the hot water.

“Good, Dean,” he says, “I’m happy to help.”

Baby blues scan over his face and Dean’s skin prickles. He knows he probably looks ugly as sin right now and tilts his head away from his friend in the hopes it hides his left eye at least a little. It’s not like Cas won’t have to look at him 24/7 until he heals, but why not give the guy’s eyes a break from the grusomeness.

Dean almost jolts when a soft palm is suddenly resting on his good cheek. Light fingertips brush some of his longer hairs from his forehead like he’s something worth taking care of. And, shit, why does that of all things make him feel like bawling?

“Cas--” the crack in his voice is painfully obvious in the silence of the room. He swallows and tries to clear his throat before continuing, “‘M sorry.”

Cas’s exasperated sigh huffs beside him and he tilts his head back to meet nice--albeit annoyed--eyes. Cas’s thumb glides over his cheekone, “What could you possibly have to be sorry for, Dean?”

_ Everything, Cas.  _

_ I’m sorry I’m a douchebag sometimes. _

_ I’m sorry I ever made you cry.  _

_ I’m sorry I’m not strong enough to stop Luc from hurting you.  _

_ I’m sorry I don’t have  _ fucking wings _ to fly you out of this shithole. _

“I--” he bites his lip when something like a whimper threatens to slip out. Hasn’t he made enough of an embarrassment of himself already? The last thing he needs is to turn into even more of a mess for Cas to clean up, “I-I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Cas’s eyes harden a little and the hand on Dean’s cheek freezes. 

“Dean…”

Well, shit. This is it. Looks like it’s now or never, since Cas is about .2 seconds from telling him to go to hell. And, while, yeah, Dean deserves that for how shitty he’s been treating Cas for the last two weeks he’s gotta say it. He might just about die if he doesn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Cas. I, mean, I fucked up so bad that I--” Dean gulps, “made you hurt yourself-- _ shit _ .”

Looks like that whimper is coming out after all. 

Dean’s eye blurs and he squeezes it shut. His chest spasms as he tries to get a goddamn hold on himself. This is ridiculous, crying at the drop of a hat. But images of Cas’s little body, bleeding at the bottom of the tub he’s currently sitting in are pale like a horror movie in his head. The moment he’d seen his friend limp and half naked and sliced up like that--he’d thought he’d lost the one good thing he could remember having. And when he thought his own ticket was getting punched, all he’d wanted was to have Cas’s face be the last thing he saw. All he wants is Cas and he almost killed the guy.

If Cas had actually died…

He chokes out an inhuman noise and so much for not sobbing like a baby. Dean shudders and clutches his stomach, knees and chest curling in until he’s a crying, pathetic ball in the slowly cooling water. His head ripples with pain as the pressure of crying thumps at his temples but he probably deserves that pain too so he should just quit his bitchin’.

Suddenly the hand on his cheek pulls away and Dean wishes Luc had just killed him instead. If Cas doesn’t want to be anywhere near him, then Dean wants out of this misery.

His ears are rushing with blood so he doesn’t hear the rustle of clothing be taking off and discarded onto the concrete. He doesn’t realize Cas has even moved, in fact, until the water is shifting around him and Cas is suddenly right there. Before he can even get a question out, his best friend is sliding into the tub, taking up the space behind him that Dean had left vacant. When he blinks a stinging eye open, Dean sees scrawny, equally pale legs bracketing him in on either side. They hug his waist, toes twitching under the water. Then Cas arms are wrapping around him, and Dean’s either stupidly weak or Cas is incredibly strong because Dean is suddenly plastered against his friend’s chest. He can feel Cas’s junk squish against his lower back and that should totally make things awkward, but not one ounce of Dean really gives a fuck about that right now. Cas-- _ his _ Cas--is there. His Cas is holding him. 

“Shhh,” the other boy whispers, hooking his chin over Dean’s right shoulder and their cheeks actually do nuzzle together, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“N-No, it’s not, man,” Dean sniffles, “You deserve so much better than me, I know that, alright? I know I can’t give you much, Cas, but I can give you me. And I wanna. I wanna be there for you. Be whatever you need--protect you as much as I can. Shit, that’s what I thought I was doing keeping you away from me but--”

“But that’s the problem, Dean,” Cas sighs, warm breath skating the shell of Dean’s ear, “I don’t need you to protect me, I need you to just be who you are. I can’t have you one minute and and lose you the next--I just can’t take it, Dean. I can’t lose you every morning.”

There’s a beat of silence that wraps around them like a blanket. Dean is pathetic--he knows he is because all he can do to keep from sobbing at the words is bury himself in Cas’s arms and feel the warmth he had missed so much. He has no fucking clue what his use is if not to protect Cas...but maybe he can do both. Maybe he can take care of the goddamn angel  _ and _ let himself be with Cas. Fuck, maybe the their two wants aren’t even at odds. When Dean thinks about it, protecting Cas and loving Cas actually kinda go hand in hand. He just needs to  _ let _ himself. And if keeping his arms open for the other boy to fall back on stops Cas from buckling in like a house of cards--how is that  _ not  _ protecting him?

Despite the pulse of pain at his temples, Dean tilts his face to Cas’s. He meets soft, blue pools and midnight eyelashes that he knows feel like Heaven when they bat against his collarbone at night as Cas falls asleep against him. His fingers hook onto Cas’s forearm where it crosses his chest like a shield, eyes darting down to the boy’s slightly chapped lips.

Dean’s lungs sting as he takes a deep breath for the first time in two weeks.

“I...I love you, too. I didn’t say it before and I shoulda. But I love you, Cas, and...I don’t want you to think I don’t,” then a thought occurs to him shreds his soul like a cheese grater, “I guess m-maybe you didn’t actually mean to say that or I didn’t understand or something so I probably look like a total dickhead ri--” Gentle lips press into his and Cas is suddenly swallowing whatever that mess of a sentence was. An equally gentle hand cups Dean’s neck, guiding their heads to move in sync with one another. For a second all pain ebbs away and Dean’s falling from the sky, body alive and oh so electric. Cas is there and warm and solid and that’s all Dean needs. Dean is the first to draw away, gasping a little when he starts to get light headed in the not-fun way. Cas’s eyes are bright and his flushed cheeks, slightly parted lips pulling up into a gummy grin, “Heh,” Oh, yeah. Dean’s a goner, “Whoa.”

“I agree,” the other’s voice has its own gaspy quality but at least Dean has an excuse for his. Cas’s eyes are wild and loving and Dean has to bury his head in Cas’s shoulder before he starts crying all over again. Since when did he get to be such a wuss? A kiss is pressed into Dean’s hairline, and Cas’s arms flex a little more protectively around him, “For the record, Dean, you didn’t  _ make _ me do anything. Not what I did to myself last night and certainly not any of the other times we made each other feel good...”

Dean believes that  _ Cas _ believes his own words--but Dean still isn’t quite sure. And he probably won’t be for a while. For the meantime, though, he lets himself tuck in a little closer to Cas, nose poking into the crook of his friend’s neck, “Okay, buddy.”

The air is quiet again, except for the steady beat of Cas’s pulse beneath Dean’s ear. And, weirdly, of all the things that could come to mind, it’s Sammy’s face that flashes before Dean’s eyes. Deep dimples when Dean snuck Sammy an extra cookie. Big, brown puppy eyes when the little guy was sleepy and wanted Dean to carry him. Floppy hair that got all sweaty and tangled when he ran around with the neighbor kids. Bright pink cheeks when he went outside to play on the swingset in the winter. That stupid, adorable stuffed dog the kid took with him everywhere. Sammy deserved so much better.

Cas is running light fingers through his hair now. Dean can blame it on the--most likely--severe concussion he probably has for what he says next. Hands steady and voice almost robotic even to his own ears, Dean murmurs, “I promise, Cas. I won’t fail you. I won’t fail you like I failed Sammy--like I’ve failed godforsaken thing I’ve ever cared about.”

The fingers in his hair pause, a whooshed breath vibrating out of Cas’s chest. His fingers start moving again, “Dean? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want but...what happened to your brother? To Sammy?”

Dimples.

Big, brown puppy eyes.

Floppy hair.

Bright pink cheeks.

That stuffed dog.

“H-He died, Cas.”

_ And I killed him. _

  
  


**||||||||||||||||||||**

  
  


_ Dean can hardly hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. He’s somewhere grey and distant, but he can still see all of the furniture of the room. He can feel sweat soaking his t-shirt the longer he stays curled up in the bathtub. His arms have gone numb but his head still pounds a shattering beat, dashing any thoughts away with each throb. He knows he’s shaking but at least his muscles are starting to get tired. Maybe he’ll be able to go to sleep soon. _

_ Why had he done that? He’d been so stupid!  _

_ Heavy, thunderous steps creaked the floorboards somewhere above him, pulling him back to the surface. He wants to sleep, he wants to get the punishment over with--whatever it is. But more than anything he wants to die. _

_ The first steel door clicks open and seems to squeak on its hinges. Uneven, shuffling boots clomp down the stairs. Those are definitely Luc’s boots, but something about them makes Dean’s spine go rigid. _

_ After a century, he can hear the boots shuffle on the last step and the second door is opened. Finally, the boots and the man in them reach the concrete floor between the second floor, Playroom, and third door that leads to Dean’s room. _

_ The final door, his door opens a crack. _

_ “Cupcake…?” a voice scratchy and low hisses. Dean’s chest spasms and a new wave of tears spill from his eyes. _

_ “Answer me, whore!” Luc’s voice booms and the door flies open. Dean flinches and squeezes his eyes tight, “Oh,” his voice switches to cold and indifferent in an instant, “There you are.” _

_ Luc’s dull footsteps amble toward the bathtub and Dean curls around himself with a death grip. The sharp sting of alcohol and the after wave of stale fast food makes Dean’s stomach roll. Maybe if he throws up Luc will leave him alone...probably not, though. He’d probably just rub Dean’s face in it while he fucked him over the tub’s lip. Eyes still clamped shut, Dean hears the man thud to his knees beside the tub and even hiss when his joints pop. Whiskey breath, hot and wet, glides onto his neck and he hears Luc lick his lips.  _

_ “Dean?” Dean can hear the smirk, “What? You kick me in the balls, bite me, try to fucking _ leave me _...and now you’re not even gonna talk to me?” _

_ There’s bitterness and hate soaking every word that slurs out of the man’s mouth. If Dean had any hope of getting off the hook just by giving Luc a long, apologetic suck down, the venom in Luc’s voice makes it clear that that isn’t going to be an option tonight. _

_ Dean unscrunches his eyes but keeps them fixed on a bug across the tub from him. _

_ “I-I’m sorry, bab--” _

_ A big, corded hand wraps around Dean’s throat and sends him flying backwards. _

_ “Don’t you dare call me ‘baby’ you goddamn cockslut,” Luc grits through snarled teeth, “Not after what you fucking did.” _

_ Dean’s nerves feel like they’ve been lit on fire and every muscle in his body is trying to escape the grip crushing into his windpipe. Luc’s hand drags him back and smacks his head down hard against the drain, blood dripping into his mouth from where his teeth snapped on his lip. _

_ “What did I always tell you was gonna happen if you tried to leave me, Baby doll? Hmm? What did I always say I’d do?” _

_ Suddenly the tub faucet roars to life and Dean feels like he’s being held under an icy waterfall. He chokes and screams against the water blinding him and rushing into his airways. His face is burning and freezing at the same time and Dean wonders if this is how Luc finally kills him. _

_ “Answer me!” _

_ The faucet handle is just as suddenly twisted off and Dean’s chest heaves and sputters as the last trickles slide down his face. His ears feel like they’ve been stuffed with cotton, and he can’t see--let alone speak. But he has to try anyway. _

_ “‘Y’...ki’ me?”he coughs. _

_ “Louder, you little fucking terror! I swear to God, you’re worthless!” Luc screams in return and the water crashes back down onto his face, the hand at his neck squeezing tighter. Dean’s not sure if Luc keeps him under for ten seconds or an hour but when the water shuts back off, black and white dots fuzz his vision. It’s kinda like the TV snow, actually. _

_ “Said...you’d--” Dean gags and coughs warm, sour fluid out onto the ceramic at the side of his head, “you’d kill...me…” _

_ Luc’s laugh is long and deep and gravelly,“Nu-uh. Try again, fuckhole. It’s not  _ you _ I’d kill…” _

_ Even if a million and one other signals weren’t firing in his brain at once, all screaming ‘DANGER! DANGER!’, Dean can’t really remember Luc hurting anyone but him. It’s always just been Dean. So who--? _

_ “How about this,” Luc yanks Dean up by his grip, holding his hand just high enough so that Dean’s exhausted body has to sit up stiff as a board so Luc doesn’t break his neck, “I’ll give you a hint...251 Poughkeepsie Road--Lawrence, Kansas.”  _

_ Dean’s body feels like it’s ten seconds from collapsing in on itself. He claws through all the sensations and pain and tries to speak, tries to make any noise so that he doesn’t have to hear what he knows is coming. _

_ “Sound familiar, cupcake? Who lives there, I wonder? Someone with dimples and an ass I’d like to bounce on my lap?” _

_ “I--” Dean shudders and shakes from the cold and that floppy-haired boy doing cartwheels in his head. _

_ “Oh...I think he’s finally getting it, folks…” _

_ “No--Lu--” Dean croaks. He can feel the stinging tears already pouring out of his eyes, intermixed with the water droplets dripping from his hair. _

_ “Ooh! Ooh! I think he’d like to solve the puzzle, Alex! Who did I say I’d kill if you ever tried to leave? And the answer is…?” Luc giggles. _

_ Bile burns Dean’s throat as the one and only word he cares about in the entire shitty world rises to his lips. _

_ “S-Sammy…” _

_ “Ding! Ding! Ding! Correct!,” Luc cheers, jiggling Dean’s body in the air like he’s holding a ragdoll,“But next time, please state your answer in the form of a question.” _

_ Dean wants Luc to stick him under the water again. He wants Luc to leave him there, kicking and screaming until he drowns. _

_ “Plea’...no--” _

_ “Oh, yesyesyes. I really didn’t wanna do it, Dean. Sammy’s so cute and small and...innocent. Well--at least he  _ was _. Oh and he  _ screamed _. He cried and begged for his Mommy and Daddy and his big brother, Dean, to come save him--but that stopped pretty quick. It’s difficult to talk with a cock stuffed down your throat, after all. But, then, you know all about that, don’t you, baby cakes?” _

_ Dean screams but it comes out as an ugly gurgle.  _

_ “But don’t worry, sugar, after I made him swallow  _ every last drop _ , I put him out of his misery. I promise, he didn’t feel a thing when I shot him between those pretty brown eyes. And to think, Sammy would’ve been just fine if his big brother had only followed one simple rule: Don’t try to escape. You know who I feel bad for? Your poor mommy and daddy. Just like that, their precious little baby dead because of their fuck-up older son. So what are you never gonna try to do again, Dean?” _

_ When Dean’s numb lips don’t answer fast enough, Luc shakes him by his neck and growls. _

_ “L-Leave.” _

_ “That’s right. Or next time, Mommy and Daddy will get their throats slashed. We have an understanding, cupcake?” _

_ Dean’s body slumps in Luc’s hold. He wishes Luc would just slash  _ his _ throat instead. Maybe if he gets it over with, Dean’ll get to see his Sammy again... _

Dean’s limbs are clawing and thrashing when his mind slams back into his body. Long, lean arms are wrapped around him in a second and Dean fights them. But he’s still half asleep and his muscles only spasm and clench as he tries to rip himself away from whoever is holding him down.

“Dean--Dean. It’s me, it’s only me,” a velvety voice whispers against his ear.

Cas. It’s Cas.

He freezes in place, legs giving one last jolt before seeming to get the message. Cas’s hold slides off of him, though he continues to rub Dean’s chest and thread fingers in his hair. Ragged breaths pumping out of Dean’s lungs start to slow down as he focuses on the warmth of Cas’s hands.

“Ca-as…?” Dean’s voice cracks in the pitch black of the room, and though he can’t see him, Dean can picture Cas’s worried face clearly in his mind’s eye. 

“C’mere, Dean,” Cas sighs gently and Dean falls to the side, into his friend’s waiting arms.

“Cas--it--”

“Shhhh,” Cas hums, wrapping his arms around Dean’s sweat-slick back and pulling the older boy to lay on top of him. 

“I--Sam…”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas murmurs against his hair, “It was just a dream. You’re okay now.”

Fingers reach up to card back through Dean’s hair even as he shakes his head and tries to bury himself so deep in Cas’s arms that he can never be found. ‘Okay’? He’s never going to be okay. 

_ Not when Sammy went through that-- _

Another sob wracks Dean’s body and Cas holds him even tighter. He feels like his heart being torn out of his chest all over again.

Familiar fingers trace along Dean’s spine as he shudders and cries into Cas’s shoulder. His friend starts humming, vibrations buzzing up through his chest until Dean feels like he can breathe again. 

“ _ I felt the coldness of my winter… _ ” Cas starts to mumble the lyrics against Dean’s hair, “ _ I thought it would never gooo...I cursed the gloom that set upon us… _ ”

Dean surprises himself when he huffs out a laugh.

“You’re a dork,” he grumbles, letting his fingers trace circles along Cas’s bicep. The dark of the night makes him feel invisible like somebody else as he murmurs, “ _ But I know that I love you so...Oh, but I know that I love you sooo... _ ”

Cas’s chuckle is light and sleepy but the kiss he lands on Dean’s forehead is answer enough. The hand Dean’s resting on Cas’s chest traces up his neck until it caresses his jaw. The other boy nuzzles into it.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean whispers, bringing his lips to meet his fingers where they’re touching the edge of Cas’s mouth.

“Always, Dean,” Cas sighs between breaths as he pulls Dean in impossibly closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! Hope you enjoyed this bittersweet chapter! I adore hearing from you guys in the comments below and I hope you stick around for Chapter 7 <3


	7. "100 Miles"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "100 Miles" by Bad Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,  
> I hope this longer chapter can distract you from all this election and 15x18 stress at least for a little bit. I'm going to aim for releasing a chapter every week so let's hope I'm not overestimating myself :))) As always MIND THE TAGS, this chapter isn't as graphic as others but there's still some rough stuff.  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

Time is a weird ass concept to Dean sometimes. It’s sticky and pulls like taffy, a week sometimes feels like a day or a month can feel like a week. Plus, it’s hard to count the days when he doesn’t actually _have_ a calendar. He can usually tell the season by how cold or damp it gets in the basement, or by the fact that Luc’s boots start tracking in snow instead of dried leaves. The best clues him and Cas get are the expiration dates on packages. But since canned Spaghetti-O’s have shelf lives older than him, they only give him a rough estimate. Sometimes they’ll get really lucky and Luc forgets a receipt in a grocery bag and the automated little stamp with the date can tell them just how much more of their lives has been eaten away.

Time can suck his dick though. It’s done nothing for him anyway. Besides, what’s the point of knowing it’s the second Thursday in March if it doesn’t change a damn thing about what his day is going to look like?

Dean’s found a much better way to see time stretch on: Cas.

The one thing Dean didn’t have in the three years before he met Cas was a constant to compare things against. Luc never gave him a mirror or shit like that so he only really knows what he looks like from his reflection in water and what he remembers looking like when he was thirteen. He knows he’s taller for sure, Luc bitched and moaned about having to get him new pants when the original ones he had were so tight Dean couldn’t get them up his thighs anymore. His hands must be a little bigger since forks and spoons seem smaller in them now. And Luc buzzes the sides of their hair every handful of months--he says it’s so Dean doesn’t ‘start looking like a girl,’ but Luc still leaves the top long so he has something to grab onto. Other than that, Dean would have no clue what he looks like if it weren’t for Cas. His descriptions are way more sappy and gooey than is probably true, but Dean still gets useful information out of them, nonetheless. Dean kinda forgot he had freckles on his cheeks until the other boy mentioned it a while ago. 

The whole thing is a two-way street, though. Dean also gets to look at Cas.

Dean’s not exactly sure how long ago Luc stomped through the door with the other boy slung over his shoulder, but Dean would probably guess it’s been a year, maybe a year and a half. Of course, he’s got zero evidence to back that up, but his gut feeling, and the tomato soup cans say about a year. One thing’s for sure: Cas has gotten older. It took Dean a while to notice the little changes in him, but once he did it became his mission to memorize his best friend inside and out.

In the early hours of the morning (Dean’s pretty sure), the sun is barely backlighting the small rectangle of the black-out tarps on the other side of the thick glass window. The room has a warmer glow than usual. This is probably Dean’s favorite time of day if he’s being honest. Beside him, Cas’s nose is scrunched in his sleep and head is nearly cutting off the circulation in Dean’s arm. That’s alright, though. The fact that he can nuzzle their cheeks together is soooo worth it.

He’s pretty sure Cas’s jaw is more angular than it used to be. And the thirteen year-old kid who’d had apple cheeks when he gave the rare smile has been replaced by an honest-to-God teenager with a sharp bone structure that has little red pimples springing up and disappearing every few days. Running his hands through Cas’s hair now, he’s pretty sure his hairline has changed some. It’s less of a heart-shape and more squared off. 

Dean almost stops breathing for a second when an image of his dad combing a part in his hair before work suddenly swoops in out of fucking nowhere. Then it’s gone, just like lightning.

Cas’s lips haven’t changed any. Dean sure as hell would’ve noticed that. His neck is a little meatier, and his biceps have filled out a little more. Dean traces the much more obvious veins of the hand Cas has resting between them. Cas’s hands have _definitely_ gotten bigger.

The other boy’s chest is almost as wide as Dean’s now and so have his hips. Never in a million years would Dean admit how much he likes it that Cas’s whole body now covers his whenever he falls asleep on top of Dean. It’s like having a Cas-sized blanket and provides the best sleep Dean’s ever gotten in his young life. 

His hand skims down under the covers, smoothing over the Cas’s t-shirted chest where he knew a few dark hairs had recently popped up. Settling his grasp on the other boy’s hip, he scooches them a few inches closer (Why the fuck wouldn’t he?), tangling their hairy legs together.

“Dean?” Cas mumbles, eyes still squinched shut as he shifts in place.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Dean says, chuckling when Cas recoils at his chipperness. Screw him, Dean’s just in a good mood and that doesn’t happen a whole hell of a lot so why not enjoy it while it lasts? Entwining their fingers, he dives in for a quick, sleepy kiss that Cas also scrunches his nose at but returns, nonetheless. He raises Cas’s knuckles and kisses those too because apparently Cas turned into the Queen of England overnight.

Cas’s lazy laughter has warmth swooping through Dean’s stomach, and he eats it all up. 

He kisses down to his best friend’s wrists, thumbs running over old marks and the new ones too. It still hurts Dean like not even Luc can when he wakes up to Cas’s silent tears and new scratch marks clawed into his skin. He just prays he never wakes up to another bathtub incident as long as they both shall live. When his lips dot over the ridged skin of scratches that are almost fully healed, Cas starts to squirm. He’s still smiling but the corners of his mouth are starting to dip as his cheeks burn at the attention. Dean fucking hates that he can never stop Cas’s pain entirely no matter how much he tries, just like he can’t stop his own. But he’s gonna love every goddamn mark just as much as he loves the rest of the boy and maybe-- _maybe_ , he can make it all hurt a little less.

For now, though, he lets it go and moves back to trail kisses from Cas’s shoulder up to his neck. Cas gives a happy little grunt, stretching out for more and lazily winding his fingers in Dean’s hair. His lips press kisses up to the bolt of Cas’s jaw. His tongue darts out every once in a while to soothe at a bruise. He doesn’t leave any marks. _Never_ marks.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas sighs. 

When Dean moves to line kisses all the way to the little dip in Cas’s chin the hands in his hair direct him up and his lips meet his best friend’s.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean says, faces only a few inches apart. Cas’s eyes seem a little darker and a little less hazy from sleep, his mouth quirked up at the corners like the smug son of a bitch he can be sometimes. And, yeah, maybe Dean isn’t exactly being subtle about what he’s hoping Cas will let him do so that look shouldn’t really surprise him. A smug Cas is a happy Cas, though, and Dean’s stomach does a fuzzy little flip at the sight. The jut of hardness that, just like Dean, Cas also sometimes gets in the morning pushes against his hip and makes the cocoon of their blanket seem way warmer than it was a second ago. Dean licks his lips, eyes darting between pools of blue, “Can I…?”

Cas’s smug smile turns softer and he pulls Dean’s mouth back to meet his, nodding his head with a little ‘ _mhmm_ ’ that hums against Dean’s skin.

Snaking a hand between them, Dean’s eyes are glued to the other boy’s face as Cas shudders at the touch. His strokes stay slow and lazy, gentle as heat tugs low in his belly. He loves how they feel together like this. Like they’re peanut butter and jelly right now--all squished up and inseparable. 

“ _Cas._ ”

“ _Dean._ ”

Cas is the first to pulse in his grip, un-bowed lips falling into a soft ‘O’ shape. The hot spill over his hands pushes Dean over the edge and suddenly he’s seeing God on the backs of his eyelids and the angels are singing in his ears.

When Dean plummets back down to Earth, Cas’s arms are still wrapped around his shoulders, hot breath panting against his collarbone. He kisses whatever square of skin he can find with his eyes still squeezed shut and bliss vibrating all the way down to his goddamn bones.

Cas is the first to speak. Voice still this side of gaspy, he murmurs into Dean’s neck, “I love you.”

Dean’s eyes slide open at that and he dots a kiss behind Cas’s ear, “Me too, buddy."

Cas returns the kiss with one of his own before shuffling over Dean and out of the bed. He returns with a wad of damp toilet paper, reaching out for Dean’s sticky hand and wiping it down before taking care of the mess on their stomachs.

“Dean?” 

“Hmm?” Dean does his damnedest to keep his eyes open, but he always feels like taking a nap after him and Cas do their thing and this morning is no different.

“I had an idea for something we could do today,” The other boy says. The next moment, Dean feels the weight of the mattress dip by his waist and only realizes then that his eyes had fallen shut without his permission. He pries them open as Cas settles back under the scratchy blanket beside him, scooting his back into Dean’s chest and pulling the older boy’s arm over him. God, Cas’s toasty body all pressed up next to Dean really isn’t helping him stay awake.

“And wha’s that?”

“I thought maybe we could celebrate Christmas today. It’s most definitely winter,” he buries his little icicle toes between Dean’s calves and at least it’s enough to wake him up even if it reminds him of just how cold his own toes are, “And even if it’s already passed...it’s not like we’ll ever know.”

There’s the tiniest wobble to Cas’s words and Dean is best buddies with desperation at this point so he knows what grasping at straws looks like when he sees it. If this’ll give Cas something to focus on, something close to contentment for one damn day, why not? Dean pulls the other boy a little closer to him, thumb stroking a ridged line at Cas’s wrist and pressing his cheek into fluffy hair.

“Nap first, then Christmas.”

Cas’s chuckle buzzes against Dean’s chest and he noses at the nape of the other dude’s neck, “You always say that.”

“We have a deal or what?”

“Yes, deal.”

**||||||||||||||||||||**

In all honesty, Dean didn’t have a clue what they could possibly do Christmas-wise. He was a little curious to see what Cas would come up with, but he was also bracing for the possibility that his friend’s hopes might come tumbling down in the face of shitty reality. It actually turns out surprisingly well. 

The first thing Cas suggests is charades. The other boy explained it as something the adults played each year when his family was forced to go to Aunt Amara’s house for the holidays. It sounded simple enough even though Dean hadn’t ever heard of it--or if he did, he couldn’t remember, so they gave it a go.

Fuck that noise. Dean hates charades.

He holds out as long as he can because Cas seems to be enjoying himself. The dude is all bright eyes and Dean even gets Cas to laugh once when he tries to act out a vampire by play-biting at his neck and using his best Transylvania voice and...okay, so maybe Dean doesn’t _hate_ charades. Nonetheless, as soon as he sees a sliver of an opening, he asks what other kinds of Christmas-y stuff Cas has in mind. They try making a Christmas tree out of whatever crap they’ve got lying around and the thing is, well, it’s pathetic at best and depressing at worst. 

Cas’s eyes aren’t twinkling so bright anymore. 

Dean’ll be damned if he gives up on giving Cas a good day that easy, so he fires up the camp stove and gets to heating up water for a bath. Cas cheers up some, judging by the way he wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and literally watches water boil with his chin hooked over Dean’s shoulder. Once the tub is all filled, Dean hops in first, shimmying up to the side opposite the faucet and spreading his legs to make room for Cas to lean back against his chest. But Cas gives him a wry raised brow and nudges Dean’s legs back together. Without any ceremony, the other boy plops his naked ass down on Dean’s lap, tangling slender fingers in blonde hair and kissing Dean like he’s starving for it. And if their bath takes a little longer than usual, who the fuck cares? It’s Christmas, dammit.

Afterwards, they start up breakfast/lunch and Dean gets out all the fixings for a double-decker PB&J. He catches the Raman he’s got going on the camp stove right before it burns, cheeks hot but glad that at least Cas hadn’t caught him staring like a weirdo. And, okay, maybe Dean still is a little hung up on the way Cas’s voice dropped like a stone sometime over the summer--sue him. He’s got a thing for deep voices, is that a crime? There’s nothing that catapults Dean into happiness like the sight and sound of Cas walking around with the thin metal headphones on, singing (mumbling) along with Paul Rodgers to “Holy Water” like something out of Dean’s wet dreams. Dean just counts his lucky stars that Cas is too caught up in the music and making their bed to see Dean look like an idiot. Something swoopy hits his chest at the fact Cas can nail the song word for word. _Dean_ taught him that.

“Alright, _Desolation Angel_ , soup’s on,” Dean chuckles, pitching his voice a little louder as he sets the steaming pot on top of a dish towel on the table.

Cas’s head perks up and his eyes swing around to meet Dean’s and, fuck, it’s almost stupid how gone on the guy he is. There’s an amused curve to Cas’s lips as he shuts off the player and places the whole set-up back on the plastic table as carefully as Dean himself would.

Dean scoops half of the noodles into each bowl, grabbing the PB&J and setting one half in front Cas. Their meal is silent mostly because it’s not like they can even discuss the weather. The quiet isn’t unnerving like it used to be when Cas was first brought here, and it doesn’t make him want to scream and rip his hair out like it had in the years before Cas. The clicking and munching of their meal going down smooth is the only soundtrack to their Christmas feast and that’s alright in Dean’s book. Hell, it’s _comfy_ even. Especially when Cas’s legs tangle with his under the table and he shoots Dean that show-stopping shadow of a smile, biting into his sandwich with a soft scrunch of his nose like his isn’t the answer to all those prayers Dean stopped saying years ago.

When his spoon hits the bottom of his bowl and he slurps down all the noodle juice, Dean slumps back in his chair, chest and stomach all warm now.

“So, got any other ideas? Any other Christmas stuff you wanted to do?”

Cas’s lips dip into a concentrating frown that furrows between his eyes. He takes a contemplative final bite of the sandwich, eyes fixed somewhere over Dean’s head in thought. 

“I don’t know,” he hums, licking the tip of his finger and dotting up all the crumbs from his plate, “It’s not as though Santa Claus can find us down here--and that’s assuming Christmas hasn’t passed already.”

Dean freezes. Cas’s face is absolutely deadpan. He doesn’t really…

“Dude, I honest-to-God can’t tell if you’re joking right now.”

A little smile twitches at the corner of Cas’s lips as he sits back in his own chair--much less slouchy than Dean. Damn, Dean kinda wants to climb up on _Cas_ ’s lap now.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, “I’m joking.”

“Heh,” Dean’s body melts a little, “I thought maybe the basement air was getting to you or something.”

“Not yet, my friend,” Cas sighs, “But, Santa Claus aside, it’s not like we can do much in the way of other Christmas traditions like gift-giving or baking cookies.”

Dean’s stomach gives a little cramp at the word. Fuck, he hasn’t thought about cookies in years--wait.

“Hey, Christmas cookies might be out of the picture for us, but there’s gotta be some kind of present we can give each other, y’know?’

“Dean…” the other boy’s tone is already resigned, but now that the wheels in his head have started turning Dean’s actually starting to like this idea.

“I’m serious, man,” Dean says, “Come on, there’s gotta be something we can give each other that isn’t a card with a shitty drawing of a bumblebee--”

“Hey, I love that card,” Cas’s brow dips but Dean steamrolls on despite the butterflies doing the Cha-cha in his full belly.

“What about, uh...stories! Yeah, Cas, we could tell each other stories!”

Cas leans in a little closer, “Stories?”

“Yeah! It’d be awesome! There’s gotta be a book or a movie or something you remember that you haven’t told me about yet. A haunted house that kids told stories about around a campfire--anything.”

That little frown of concentration sets his friend’s features until Cas’s brows suddenly shoot up and hopeful baby blues look at Dean, “Maybe...I could tell you the story Mother used to tell me about the angel? About Castiel?”

Dean had kind of forgotten that Cas was ever anything but ‘Cas,’ let alone that there was some story to go along with it but now he’s kinda dying to hear it. 

“There ya go, buddy,” Dean fucking _beams_. This isn’t even that special of an idea but suddenly it’s all Dean wants, to listen to Cas’s voice and let his mind drift somewhere happy for a while.

“I have an idea as well, I think,” Cas says, popping up to his feet and grabbing up the empty pot and their dishes, placing them in the sink before rounding back. He fishes the clock out of the dresser before mumbling something along the line of ‘we’ve got time.’ Dean’s skin prickles at the reminder of their jailer. The thought dissolves with a blink like it was never even there. Grabbing Dean’s hand, Cas hauls him to his feet and waits the necessary few seconds for Dean’s dizziness to dissolve before pulling him over to their nicely made bed, “Let’s make this more of an experience, shall we?”

Dean watches his friend settle on the bed, propping the lumpy pillow behind his back before gesturing to the space beside him. What the hell?

“Uh, Cas...?”

The other boy only rolls his eyes, “Humor me, please?”

Dean shrugs, lumbering the few steps over and plops onto the bed. Cas is specific and meticulous--but always so fucking gentle--as he arranges them until Dean is lying on his back with his head on warm thighs. One of his friend’s nimble hands starts carding through his hair. 

Oh. So, _this_ is what Heaven feels like.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean sighs. Tingles run down his spine with every stroke of fingers across his scalp. His eyes roll pleasantly shut, “Not that I’m complaining _at all_ , but I don’t see what this has gotta do with story time?”

Cas’s huff of a laugh vibrates through his stomach where the side of Dean’s face is comfortably squished.

“This is the ‘experience’ part of the present, Dean,” Lazily opening his eyes, Dean’s heart squeezes at the face looking down at him. Heaven.

“Oh ho, I’m _definitely_ on board with this plan, sunshine.”

“I’m glad,” If this were a cartoon, Dean thinks, little hearts would be exploding out of his eyes right now, “I must warn you, though, my story isn’t very long. I don’t think I remember all of it. Mother’s voice was too calming; I always fell asleep before she could finish.”

“Your mom sounds like she musta been pretty nice,” Dean says, but he sorta regrets it as soon as the smile playing at Cas’s lips starts to slip away.

“She loved me...in her own way.”

Scooching a little onto his side, Dean meets the other boy’s eye and presses a kiss to the boy’s warm, t-shirt covered belly. 

There’s that smile again.

“So, who was this angel guy anyways?”

“Well,” Cas begins, gaze falling somewhere off in the distance, “Castiel was a soldier and he served in God’s army. He followed all of the rules--commandments? I don’t remember the word for them. Anyway, Castiel did everything God told the angels to do. He was wonderfully obedient to God and fought valiantly--that’s a word Mother liked to say whenever she got the chance, ‘valiantly.’ Castiel fought valiantly against the Devil and his demon army. He was unquestioningly loyal to God. The _perfect_ soldier. 

“Then, one day, Castiel was called by the other angels to court--apparently, a ‘court’ used to be just a special meeting place, and not where judges and lawyers go. So, Castiel went to court before his brother and sister angels and, as a reward for being so obedient, he was given a special mission: save the righteous man.”

“‘Righteous man,’ huh? You mean like Jesus?”

Cas chuckles, tracing a thumb beside Dean’s left eye, the one that still is a little unfocused no matter how hard he squints.

“No, Mother never gave him a name. He was just the ‘Righteous Man.’ Maybe he had a name in the Bible, but I never heard it. Mother always said, though, that the Righteous Man was also a perfect soldier. So, in that way, Castiel ‘ _knew that their souls had been linked since the beginning of Creation._ ’ Whatever that means.”

Dean hums, “I kinda like that.”

“You do?” Cas quirks a brow at him.

“Yeah, I mean. Wouldn’t it be cool to know that there was someone out there who was perfect for you? Someone who likes the things you like, hates the foods you hate--stuff like that. You’d be like puzzle pieces together. Like…soul-friends or something.”

“You mean soulmates?”

Dean feels the tips of his ears pinken, why does Dean have to sound like an idiot when Cas talks like he’d already graduated college?

“Yeah, heh. Guess there’s already a word for it.”

The hand in his hair keeps a smooth rhythm despite the little cloud that crosses his best friend’s features. For a second, Dean almost thinks Cas has read his mind. But then the moment passes, and Cas lets a deep breath whoosh out of him before continuing.

“The Righteous Man had died a very bad death--I think Mother always skimmed over how the Righteous Man died so I’m guessing it must’ve been pretty awful. But he died defending the people he loved which is what made him righteous. Anyway, in order to save him, Castiel soared in on giant wings and stormed into Hell, cutting demons down left and right with his angel blade--”

“So, your mom wouldn’t tell you how the Righteous Man died, but she told you about all the slicing and dicing?”

A sweet little thing of a smile draws up the corners of Cas’s mouth and maybe Dean doesn’t have to try to be smart. Maybe Cas will smile at him no matter what.

“You make a good point,” Cas says, “Mother was weird about some things and not about others. I’m sure she had her reasons--I just never could figure what they were.

“Anyway, Castiel stormed the gates of Hell and fought his way down to the deepest, darkest part of Hell where the screams and ‘ _pleas of the tortured_ ’ could be heard the loudest--”

“Jesus Christ, this was your _bedtime_ story, Cas?” Cas only gives a questioning head tilt which means Dean won’t be getting any helpful details out of him, so he waves a dismissive hand, “Kinda explains a lot actually. Alright, go on.”

Cas squints but continues, “Castiel finally found the Righteous Man’s soul. Mother said that the soul was so bright to Castiel’s eyes that he was able to follow it all the way to where the man was. Apparently, time works differently in Hell, so even though the Righteous Man had only been dead for a little while by Earthly standards, by the time Castiel got there it had felt like forty years for the Righteous Man. His soul was already so sad and angry and had nearly been swallowed up by all the torture that when Castiel approached him, he didn’t think he was worthy of being saved.”

_I know the feeling._

Dean clears his throat, “But...did he? Did Castiel s-save him, I mean?”

There was that head tilt again, “Of course, Dean. Everyone is worthy of being saved.”

“Oh,” Dean swallows around an uncomfortable knot. This is ridiculous, why do his eyes sting? It’s a fucking story.

“Castiel knew that and so he gripped him tight,” Cas put a demonstrating hand over Dean’s right shoulder and _shit_ , why did that make his throat squeeze tighter? “And the angel ‘raised him from perdition,’ as my Mother would always say it. She said that in that moment, when Castiel’s soul touched the Righteous Man’s, the Righteous Man was made whole again...”

Dean feels his breath hitch, “And?”

A soft smile pulls at Cas’s lips and his thumb traces the shell of Dean’s ear.

“That’s the part I usually fell asleep after,” he says, “Sorry.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s the end?” Dean huffs. A weird empty feeling settles in his stomach and he nuzzles his cheek into Cas’s stomach ‘cause...well, it just feels nice like this, “You mean you don’t know what happens to Castiel and the Righteous Man? Sure, he saves him but...is that it? Do they ever see each other again? They’re soulmates, right? What kind of idiot finds their soulmate and just goes on their merry freakin’ way after that?”

Amusement twinkles in Cas’s eye as he asks, “How would you like the story to end, Dean?”

Dean’s cheeks feel hot. Okay, he’s getting _way_ too invested in this thing. It’s a million-year-old story, for crying out loud. It’s not even about him, anyway.

“I dunno, maybe they could team up and take down enemies together,” he shrugs, fingers playing with the same thread in the blanket that’s been loose for years. He mumbles, “They’re soulmates, man. Just seems stupid for them to not at least hang out sometimes.”

“Dean,” Cas tugs on his hair ever so slightly until their eyes meet, “Just because I don’t remember a happy ending doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. Maybe they fought side by side together for the rest of their lives. Maybe the Righteous Man went back to Heaven with the angel--or the angel joined him on Earth. I have no clue, but they’re all possibilities.”

“Yeah?”

The thunder of boot steps overhead has Dean nearly jolting out of his skin.

As the heavy sound of the first door opening electrifies the air, Dean jumps out of Cas’s hold. In an instant he’s standing beside the bed, swaying a little as the black dots at the edge of his vision fade. Likewise, Cas is up and off the bed and standing obediently beside Dean in the blink of an eye.

“There’s my boys!” Luc booms, closing the third door tightly behind him. Tossing his jacket over the chair, he swaggers over to Cas locking a possessive hand under the boy’s chin, “Cassie, baby, do you know what day it is?”

“I-I--” Dean, as subtly as _fucking possible_ , hooks his finger with Cas’s when the boy stutters. He gives a quick squeeze, letting go before Luc can clock it. Cas gulps, “N-No, Luc, I don’t.”

“I’m _hurt_ , angel,” Luc sticks out his lip in a pout he thinks is so fucking funny and his thin mouth slides into a cloying smile, “How can my good boy not remember our two year anniversary?”

Dean thinks the world goes black for a second and suddenly he’s dropping to a seat on one of the chairs by his side. Luc doesn’t seem to give shit.

Two years?

Cas has been in this hellhole for _two years?_

Him and Cas have been together for two years.

Holy shit.

_Two fucking years._

“I--” Dean’s attention snaps to his friend. He’d know that little voice wobble anywhere and there’s nothing in the world he wants more than to scoop Cas up and fly them out of all this shit like Superman...or Castiel.

“But no worries, gorgeous,” Luc pulls a smallish paper bag out of his back pocket, spinning it teasingly between his fingertips, “I bought you a present to celebrate.” 

If only Dean had wings.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

_Sweat from a slick strand of Dean’s hair drips a fat tear, landing on the padded leather table beside Cas’s head._

_Louder, baby cakes. What number are we at?”_

Sharp, white-hot pain rips across Dean’s ass as the tassels of the switch slice through his flesh. He grunts, air blasting out of his chest and stealing his breath.

“ _Th-Thirty!_ ”

Another cry tears out of Cas’s throat when the involuntary stutter of Dean’s hips away from the switch causes him to thrust forward where he’s buried in his friend. The boy shudders as a sob wracks through him, the muscles in his neck bulging as his head twists listlessly to the side. His cheeks are stained a flushed, angry red, drool sliding down the corners of his mouth, tears glassy in dull blue eyes. 

The lube has gone vaguely tacky...at best.

“ _Thirty-one!_ ”

_Another strike. Another grunt. Another sob._

But this is the way Luc likes it, the same show he watches on repeat. So, this is what they have and will be doing until he gets his rocks off or gets bored. Dean’s just praying to any God that’ll listen that whichever it’s gonna be happens soon before he rips a hole right through Cas.

Always this--Dean hurting Cas, Dean pushing into Cas. Never the other way around even though Dean would trade places with the other boy in a heartbeat if it meant he could take away Cas’s pain. It’s both better and worse on nights like this. 

“ _Thirty-two!_ ”

On the one hand, if Luc is just sitting back, making Dean do all the work and touching himself—then at least he’s not touching Cas. It’s a double-edged sword the cuts Dean to shreds every fucking time. He has to inflict pain on his friend—someone he loves more than himself most of the time. 

“ _Thirty-three!_ ”

But he’s found that the mental fuck of it all seems to be what really revs Luc’s engine, and if Dean keeps it subtle, he can hold back more than Luc ever would. Luc doesn’t seem to notice how hard Dean’s doing whatever shit is part of his precious “game,” so long as _Dean_ is the one who’s doing it.

“ _Thirty-four!_ ”

Fuck all if Dean wouldn’t kill for Luc to pull them apart and demand some simple face-fucking or something from Dean right now, at least Luc comes pretty quick with that and the whole thing’s over with way sooner. But when’s what Dean wanted ever mattered anyway? No, tonight Cas is tied down beneath him, straining against scratchy ropes that’ll leave raw skin. Dean will have put some lotion from the medical kit on the burns later.

“ _Thirty-five!_ ”

_“Good work, dollface,” Luc laughs, clapping a meaty hand on Dean’s ass that nearly has him falling to his knees. He steadies himself before he can drop like a dead elephant to the unforgiving concrete, he tries not to jostle Cas but he’s just so fucking dizzy…_

_“Th-Thank--nnhh...Thank you, b-baby…”_

_Dean blinks and suddenly feels Luc sliding up behind him, the searing hardness pressing into the raw crease of his ass has icy tendrils seizing his muscles. Giant arms wrap around him, one slithering down to wear Dean is bracing himself on Cas’s thigh. Equally meaty fingers pray his grip off, guiding Dean’s hand upward...to Cas’s throat._

_Blue eyes as big as Dean remembers the moon being stare up at him just as Luc wraps Dean’s hand right over the bump of Cas’s Adam’s apple._

For all that Dean had been dreading what Luc had in that paper bag--nipple clamp-y things, by the way--it’s not even the worst part of tonight’s “game.” 

This is.

_“There we go, cupcake,” Luc groans in his ear, nipping once at his earlobe before drawing back and leaving Dean holding his friend’s neck, “Can you feel his heartbeat? The fucking stretch over beautiful, crushable skin under your hand, Dean-o? Why don’t you give our baby boy a little squeeze…”_

The once-in-a-blue-moon times that they ever mention all this shit outside of the Playroom, Cas has said that he’s glad Dean doesn’t remember what happens. He says that since Dean forgets Cas can too--in his own way. Because if Dean doesn’t know then it never really happened, right? 

" _Now I know you can do better than that, baby cakes,” Dean squeezes ever so slightly more as Cas starts squirming, face growing red. Luc clucks his tongue with a smirk, “Harder. Unless, of course, you want me to give it a whirl…?”_

That’s the last thing Dean wants, and the sick fuck knows it. He squeezes harder.

Cas maybe doesn’t mind so much that Dean doesn’t remember, but Dean wants to stick a butter knife to his goddamn heart whenever he sees a bruise or a bitemark and he doesn’t know if he did that or Luc. Cas always tells him it was Luc...but Dean doesn’t always believe him.

" _Harder, fuckhole.”_

_Cas sputters, body heaving up against the ropes. The whites of his eyes are going veiny and the flushed red is turning purple._

Dean’s not sure if it was the shock of finding out about the two years or what but the grey’s not coming today. He’s pretty sure he's gonna to remember every fucking second of this later. 

Two years. He can’t imagine life without Cas anymore, even the time with Luc before his friend feels grainy and out of focus now. If something happened to Cas, or he woke up one morning to Cas in the...well that’d be it. If Cas killed himself, Dean probably would, too--‘cause what would the point even be anymore? 

" _Dea--” Cas gasps, throat spasming under his palm. His eyes are bloodshot and cloudy and...calm? His chests flutters and Dean just wants Luc to come over and start strangling himself instead of making him do this for one more second._

_"I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” words and tears dribble off his lips._

Come to think of it, why didn’t he off himself years ago? Was he waiting to be rescued or just waiting--period? Even if some gunslinging sheriff propelled down from the fucking ceiling like a ninja to save him, did he honestly think his mom and dad would want him back after all the stuff he’d done with Luc. After he’d killed Sam? Fat chance.

_Cas’s bluish lips part, in a wet whisper he says, “‘S ‘kay…’S ‘kay, Dea--” a gargle sputters out of him and his eyes are starting to roll back, “‘ove you…st’ ’ove you…”_

_Dean can see ocean eyes starting to slip shut and his hand flies back, burned. The metal scrape of Luc’s chair clattering to the hard ground is the last thing Dean registers before knuckles are slamming into his jaw._

_“Did I say you could let go, you little bitch?”_

Maybe Cas had the right idea that night Dean had found him in the tub. There certainly ain’t anything here worth sticking around for, so why even bother?

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Dean has to more or less carry Cas back to their room that night.

He boils the water, gets out the rags, and goes to work. Dabbing with gentle presses and with painstaking effort not to fuck up the boy he loves any further, Dean cleans up the mess he made. Without any fog hiding his memories, every single second plays on a loop at the back of his eyes.

Cas is shaking when Dean finally draws the covers back over him and tucks the fabric around him for whatever it’s worth. When he turns away to put the pot in the sink, he takes the second it offers him to wipe away the wet trails on his cheeks that are starting to itch.

 _What the fuck do_ you _have to cry about, huh?_

He pulls on his t-shirt and jeans from earlier and turns out the lights. He forgot to put on a movie while he tended to Cas so there isn’t even the glow of the TV to draw his thoughts away. Instead, the blood red of Cas’s pinched nipples, the way he curled his lips back to grit his teeth against the pain _Dean_ caused him...it all dances around his head like some fucked up circus.

Sinking to the cool concrete, Dean lets his exhausted limbs and squeezing ribs finally go limp. From down here, he can stay by Cas if the other boy needs him, but Cas won’t even have to acknowledge Dean’s existence. This is where Dean belongs.

Rustling overhead is as loud as a race car in the silence of their room.

“Dea...?” Cas’s hoarse voice croaks in the air. Dean is the most worthless piece of shit to ever walk the face of the Earth.

Dean swallows around the boulder in his throat.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I--” a raspy cough crackles like lightning. With a wet click, the other boy continues, “Where are you?”

“Uh…” Dean’s knees curl up to his chest and he wraps his arms around them, “Floor.”

The bedding rustles again, mattress squeaking right above Dean’s head. Cas gives out a little huff from somewhere above and he must have his head next to the edge of the bed now since his broken voice is somehow booming, “Why?”

“Just go to sleep, Cas. You gotta rest. Please.”

He blames it on the fact that they’ve been within six feet of each other for two years that these are the next words that Cas rumbles into the air, “You didn’t ‘phase out’ tonight, did you?”

The inhuman sound that punches out of Dean must be all the answer Cas needs because suddenly gentle fingers are reaching down, patting blindly for a moment before they find his hair. With easy strokes, Cas cards through the strands.

“Cas,” Dean moans. How does he even begin to beg for his friend’s forgiveness? Especially when he doesn’t deserve it.

“Come up here, Dean,” Cas rasps. All he can do is violently shake his head, and shiver where he lies. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as Cas--what the hell gives him the right to share a bed with the boy he almost killed? “Please, Dean...I’m cold by myself.”

No fucking fair. That boy knows goddamn well what he’s doing.

With a shuddering breath, Dean drags his heavy bones up off the floor and slithers into their bed like the snake that he is. Cas is tucking up against him immediately, burying his face in Dean’s chest like the other boy somehow still feels safe around him.

Dean, for his part doesn’t move a fucking muscle. He can’t. Where Cas’s space-heater body would usually have him melting into the mattress, the touch of all that warm skin--skin he _hurt_ \--makes him itchy all over. 

As soon as Cas’s breaths turn slow and even with sleep, Dean gently slips out of his hold and lays back down on the concrete.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Cas stays in bed for nearly three days. He sleeps sometimes, if his snuffling is any tell, but lays nearly motionless with his eyes fixed on the wall most other times. Dean is able to distract Luc both nights. At least he’s still good for something.

When he wobbles back in from the Playroom each night, Cas is out of bed, boiling water on the stove and rags sitting on the table. They don’t say anything as Cas wipes away all the filth, but he keeps a hand in Dean’s hair as often as he can. Then, still silent, Cas pulls Dean into bed and tangles their limbs inextricably together, like he’s learned his lesson from waking up to Dean lying on the floor again. He gets his wish, ‘cause no way is Dean gonna wake Cas up no matter how much he doesn’t deserve to be there.

But, like he has the past two mornings, Dean is up and out of bed as soon as he’s awake.

The day is silent except for the white noise of movies playing in the background. It’s nearly noon now, according to the blinking clock, and Dean starts to get out lunch stuff for him and Cas. Lord knows how much Cas will actually eat today. Glancing over his shoulder, he stares at the smooth curve of the other boy’s spine where the blankets have rucked down in his sleep. Cas’s wide shoulders look smaller and Dean’s pretty sure he’s probably just getting loopy because people don’t just change size. Then his eyes draw up to the yellowish purple blossoms that just peek over the back of Cas’s neck. Dean snaps his eyes back to their lunch before he can start dry heaving.

A sudden rustle behind him perks up his ears and he’s spinning around again, only to be met by all whatever-the-fuck-his-height-is of Cas making a b-line for him. Bright blue, laser-focused eyes are staring right at him with more life in them then Dean’s seen in days.

“Ca--”

“Dance with me, Dean.”

_The hell?_

Cas easily pulls Dean’s motionless body along behind him, grabbing the Walkman off the table and finagling the headphones to rest on his collarbones. Dean’s brain is still catching up as Cas cranks the volume so the tinny music can be easily heard between them. As soon as Cas whips around and starts to take Dean’s hands, though, Dean jolts back into his body and seizes up. Cas’s eyes are wide, but not frightened. More resigned than anything and shouldn’t _he_ be the one freaking out here and not Dean?

“Cas, I--I don’t--I _can’t_ …”

The determination in Cas’s eyes softens a little and, slowly this time, he skims his warm palms down both of Dean’s arms until their fingers interlock. That shadow of a smile pulls at one corner of Cas’s mouth and makes little crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he murmurs inching forward until there’s only a breath of space between them, “I _want_ you to touch me. Please?”

Dean is a weak, _weak_ son of a bitch because that’s all it takes and he’s barreling forward, wrapping his arms around his best friend, and burying his head in Cas’s shoulder. God, he’s been starving, and he didn’t even realize until right this second. He eases a little at the small _‘oof’_ Cas grunts, but he doesn’t get a chance to second guess himself. Like wings shielding him from all the shit of the world, Cas’s arms wrap around Dean with equal fierceness. His arms are stronger than Dean remembers them being.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Dean babbles into Cas’s thin t-shirt, “I didn’t ever wanna--I don’t--Cas, I love--”

“Shhh,” Cas hums against Dean’s ear. His hands rub little circles that have Dean’s knees feeling a little wobbly, “I know, my friend. I know, but it’s not your fault. None of it is,” Dean knows he’s damn well bawling now and he doesn’t have any right to but he doesn’t think he could make his body listen to him even if he wanted to pull away, “I love you, too, Dean. Nothing has changed that.”

After an eternity, the spasms in Dean’s chest start to lessen and his crying fades to little hiccups. At some point Cas started swaying their bodies in place. The dude wasn’t kidding--he really did want to dance. Dean just holds on tight and rolls with whatever Cas’s little heart desires as “100 Miles” drifts into his brain and carries him away. He’s almost a puddle by the time Cas is drawing them back. The other boy guides Dean’s chin closer to his until Dean feels the smooth, familiar roll of lips under his and his eyes flutter shut. Even if he could think of any words right now, he’s pretty sure all of them would fall shy of describing just how much he missed this in the few days since they’d been this close.

Cas’s hands fall back down to his, and Dean isn’t even embarrassed by the little whine that slips out as Cas starts to pull away.

“C’mere,” Cas murmurs, starting to pull Dean toward their bed. Panic starts to bubble up Dean’s stomach. Cas can’t want... _that_? Right? Not after…

“I don’t…”

That weird mind-reading thing Cas has been doing more and more of lately seems to come on line and the other boy gives him an impossibly softer look, “Just hold me for a little bit, Dean. That’s all. I promise.”

All the tension whooshes out of him like an untied balloon and Dean follows Cas’s lead, sinking down into the mattress like he’s falling to his knees at the edge of an oasis in a desert. Once the other boy is comfortable on his side, Dean is curling around his back almost immediately. It may be pathetic as hell, but he buries his nose in raven hair and shudders when all his senses are completely, goddamn perfectly _Cas_.

“I love you, Cas. Love you so much,” Dean surprises himself with a shy laugh that sneaks up on him, “ _Too_ much, probably.”

Cas’s chuckle buzzes against his chest and it’s better than anything Dean’s sloppy brain can think of. The other boy entwines their fingers, drawing it up to his chest, “I love you as well.”

 _This_ is worth sticking around for.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

  
  


Dean doesn’t know how long they’ve been all wrapped around one another like this, but he can’t find a single shit to give. This is happier than he’s been in days. So, of course, it all comes tumbling down.

He feels Cas’s body go rigid under his arms before he registers the roar of Luc’s boot stomping through the first door. And, yeah, okay, maybe Dean lost track of time but they’re supposed to have  _ hours _ before Luc gets back from work or the bar or wherever he goes when he’s not actively crushing Dean’s will to exist. This is  _ way _ too fucking early.

Something’s wrong.

“Dean--” Cas squeaks and they both snap into action, hopping out of the bed. Dean straightens the bed just enough to make it look normal and Cas is pulling on jeans over his boxers. 

If he’d have been paying more attention or the blood in his ears hadn’t been rushing so loud from that sick feeling in his gut kicking up, he might’ve heard it. But, it’s not until seconds before the third door swings open that Dean clocks what the extra noise is: Luc is talking to someone. And Luc is a  _ lot _ of things--but stupid ain’t one of them. He’d never bring a phone down to the basement where he’s keeping fucking prisoners with lungs that can scream so that must mean--

When the door slams against the wall, Dean’s knees just about give out.

“--and here it is. Mi casa es su casa, kiddo.”

Cas’s hand shoots up to Dean’s arm, nails digging in like talons but he barely even feels the sting. 

Oh, good. Dean’s not going crazy. 

Cas sees the little boy in Luc’s arms, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter and continue to stick around!! Thanks so much for reading!! Comments give me life lol


	8. "What Is And What Should Never Be"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "What Is And What Should Never Be" by Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much for notes this chapter, I took a look at my outline and because some scenes have ended up being longer than I thought, I believe that this fic will now be 20 chapters instead of 18. I hope you enjoy! As always, please heed the tag warnings!  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

_He’s trembling._

That’s the first thing Dean’s _flipping-the-fuck-out_ brain latches onto. The kid is shaking like a leaf from head to toe. He doesn’t look like he’s going to be able to keep himself upright much longer, not with the way his knees are knocking. Dean would probably be able to see his teeth chattering, too, if it weren’t for the bandana rag tied tight over his mouth. The thick arm Luc has locked possessively over the boy’s shoulder is probably the only thing keeping him from caving in on himself. The little guy’s the human equivalent of Bambi and if that doesn’t just have every hair on Dean’s body standing on edge and his breakfast rising back up...

And _shit_ , did Luc snatch him from his _highchair_? There’s no way on Earth that this kid is the same age Dean was, let alone Cas. Is he even old enough to be in middle school, yet?

“L-Luc?” Dean stutters, eyes never leaving the kid.

A glance to the side shows Cas’s face drained of all color, eyes the size of moons. In a second, the expression turns from shock to a kind of scary-ass rage Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen on his friend. Out of the corner of his eye, Cas’s fists start to ball up all white knuckled and bony. Dean’s heartbeat skyrockets and he puts a firm hold on Cas’s forearm to shut that shit down real quick. Fiery blue eyes flicker just a little when they meet Dean’s best pleading face, and his fists loosen just a little.

“Meet the third Musketeer, boys,” Luc’s smile is entirely too much teeth, “This here’s Jack and he’s gonna be the newest addition to the boy band. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

Glassy baby blues that are almost the same color as Cas’s seem to startle at being talked to directly. His wild eyes dart between the three of them and fuck if Dean’s heart doesn’t shatter into rice-sized pieces at the absolute terror swimming there. He wants to give the boy--Jack--some kind of reassuring smile or something. But his muscles and brain aren’t working right now and so he’s pretty sure his expression doesn’t change at all.

Luc roughly tugs the rag down and it leaves behind little indents in Jack’s cheeks, the boy coughs out a balled-up sock that’d been crammed in his mouth. A whimper and choked hiccup seem to catch in the boy’s throat. 

“Y-Yes.”

Jack winces and Dean’s 100% sure Luc’s grip just went from tight to vice. Dean tastes the acid of vomit in the back of his throat. 

“‘Yes’ what?”

The boy’s little throat bobs and his giant eyes drop to the ground, shoulders scrunching up to his burning pink ears. In a voice that’s more of a sob than Dean can stand take, Jack mumbles, “Y-Yes...Daddy.”

_Well, shit. That’s new._

“There ya go, pal,” Luc beams down, then turns his attention back to the older boys, “Time to meet the squad. First, my better half, my baby doll: _Dean_. He likes sunsets, long walks on the beach, and he’s an Aquarius--wait, you’re not a Cancer, are you? ‘Cause that might be an issue,” Luc deadpans and for the life of him, Dean doesn’t know if Luc is kidding or not. But it’s not like he really gives a shit because _there’s a friggin’ baby standing in front of him_ , “But Dean--Dean here is my good boy,” those beady eyes flash dark, “My good little soldier. Aren’t you, cupcake?”

Dean blinks, eyes stay fixed on the little, mottled, red face.

“Yes, baby.”

“Then we have Cassie. _Ooh!_ Now Cassie likes to think he’s all big and bad--and I'll admit he’s got a feisty side to him. But…” Luc leans in close to the kid and Dean’s pretty sure Cas is 0.5 seconds from trying to claw the man’s eyes out when Jack shudders and tries not to scrunch away, “deep down he’s just a bitch in heat. Just wait ‘til you hear him moan, Jack--it’s fucking _nirvana_.”

In an instant, that red face goes ghost white and then the kid’s knees really do give out this time. Being a foot closer, it’s into Cas’s arms that Jack falls, his head only inches from connecting with the concrete before Cas can get a good enough hold on him to lower him down slowly. Dean drops to his knees opposite his friend. Jack’s eyes are wide open but unblinking and Dean’s pretty positive the kid was _literally_ just scared to death.

“God, it looks like we got another one on the rag,” Luc tuts, “I think you and our resident drama queen are gonna hit it off.”

The sound that rumbles in Cas’s chest is nearly a growl and Dean snaps his eyes up. He grabs Cas’s forearm again because fuck if this’ll be the day that he lets Cas get beaten to death on his watch. Eyes like blue fire snap to Dean, glaring daggers. Well two can play at that game. 

Dean thanks all that is holy that spending every second of every day with someone means you get to a level of mind-reading that’s almost unreal. 

_Dammit, Cas! Not now._ Dean pointedly glances down at Jack. _Bigger fish to fry, dude._

He sees the instant, tiny sag of Cas’s shoulders and a little bit of weight floats off his chest.

Cas directs his attention back to the kid, cupping his hand under Jack’s head. At least he’s blinking again, his gaze still unfocused, head lolling a bit in Cas’s hold, but he seems to be surfacing.

“Hey, kid,” Dean tries to catch the Jack’s shifting eyes that wander between them and the ceiling, “Can you hear me, buddy?”

“ _Pssht_ ,” Luc laughs, “He’s fine. Maybe a little bit of a lightweight, but he’ll buck up. Won’t you, sport?”

Dean’s head is swimming, and a million different things are trying to flag down his attention at once. But a shift of the kid’s leg breaks through all of it, because his eyes catch the motion and glance down. 

He kinda wishes he hadn’t.

Just on the inside of Jack’s pant leg, barely visible from this angle...Dean sees it. A dark red, almost black trail marring the jeans. Without consulting his brain, Dean’s hand shifts the denim a little and his stomach drops. Yup. It’s exactly what he thinks it is. The stain trails all the way up to the kid’s inseam, disappearing down between his legs and if Dean had a million dollars and liked to bet on perverted shit, he’d put all his money on there being an even bigger bloodstain over Jack’s backside.

“Dea--” The little choked noise to his side tells him Cas saw it, too.

“Then again,” Luc chirps, “Maybe Jackie boy is still a little overwhelmed from all the fun we had in the van. Speaking of, I could really use a little pick-me-up before I head back upstairs so you can get the newbie cleaned up and show him the ropes. Any volunteers?”

Dean sees _fucking fire_ and it’s not until he feels Cas’s hand clamp down on his own arm that he realizes he’d been rising up with his eyes dead-set on Luc. Rage he can’t remember feeling in his entire life is roaring right under his skin, just shy of boiling over. When his gaze darts back to Cas, it’s like an ocean washing out the flame. The beginnings of tears are welling in his friend’s eyes and he can only blink as Cas mouths ‘ _help him_ ’ before pushing up to his own feet. Dean wants to reach out and grab him again, throw himself at Luc before Cas can reach him--but he can’t move. In slow motion, he watches Cas walk over, Luc smirk, then his friend drops to bony knees.

Dean is a coward and looks away. He can’t watch this part.

Instead, he does as Cas told him and zeroes in on Jack. First, he makes the _very important_ decision to not tilt Jack’s head up like Cas had been. The kid doesn’t need to see what Cas and Luc are doing either.

“Buddy?” Light, almost translucent eyelids open as his gaze slides to the empty space beside him, like he just realized Cas left, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Dean’s not actually sure what that has to do with anything, but he knows if Jack sees more than the three he’s flashing, that’s no good. Jack’s lips part on a wet, throaty sound and suddenly his face is scrunching up, blank eyes filling with tears that slide down to the concrete. His chest spasms, a sob that’s halfway to a scream bursts past his lips and he buckles to the side into Dean’s knees.

Before he can even get another word out, the kid throws up.

Dean can sympathize.

The gross, thick sound of Jack’s heaving is almost a welcome noise to drown out the grunts and squelching behind Dean.

Jack is shivering, sweat covering his cherry red face. Once the kid’s rigid spine slumps and Dean’s relatively sure that this round is over, he scooches Jack’s head a little way from the puddle of sick and turns the kid’s sticky eyes to look up at him.

“Wh--” Jack coughs and winces as his hips stutter, a few more tears squeezed from the corners of blue-grey eyes, “Where…?”

Dean sighs, “It’s, uh, kinda a long story. Do you think you can stand? I’m just gonna get you up on the bed.”

There’s the sharp flash of fear as Jack scans over Dean’s face, but it seems to be at war with his desire not to hang out on the cold, puke-y concrete. Finally, he gives a little nod, “Maybe.”

It takes two tries, and Dean’s careful efforts to block Jack’s view with his larger body, before he finally gets Jack to wobbling feet. The kid’s weight is almost entirely resting on Dean, head lolling a little against the older boy’s ribs. Even though the unsteadiness makes Dean’s own vision go slanted, they’re less than two feet from the bed already and so he forces himself to push through.

It’s not until the third door is slamming shut that Dean’s eyes snap over to his friend. Cas is still kneeling, a little shaky himself. Dean props Jack’s frame against the bed, double checking that the kid is all good on his own, before closing the distance between him and Cas. Cas is wiping the mess of spit and snot and tears from his cheeks with his t-shirt as Dean crouches beside him.

“You okay, buddy,” Dean asks, gently setting a hand on his friend’s shoulder blade and offering the other to help him up.

For a moment, Cas’s eyes are unseeing. Then he blinks, eyes finding Dean’s before dashing over his shoulder to look at Jack. With muttered ‘ _I’m fine_ ,’ Cas pushes to a stand and brushes past Dean, making a b-line to the bed. The instant Cas appears he takes the burden of Jack’s weight and the kid doesn’t put up any resistance to letting him. Cas starts speaking, that warm, hushed sound that Dean’s only ever heard directed at him. The words, whatever they are, are drowned out by the sound of Dean’s heart thudding in his chest. When Cas’s long fingers reach up to pet through the boy’s moppy, blonde hair something weird slithers inside of Dean. It’s prickly like anger--but also not. It makes him feel like a pumpkin whose guts have been hollowed out in the same way he does when he’s sad or thinks about Cas dying. None of it makes sense and Dean doesn’t like this shit at all.

“...Jack. It’s Jack, right?” Cas’s words finally filter through Dean’s mind. And he banishes all the other crap to the back burner. Priorities. He closes the gap between him and the other two, sidling up to Cas and trying his best to make himself seem as non-threatening as possible. By the way Jack’s wary eyes look between them, he’s only partially successful. On the plus side, Cas’s hair-stroking thing seems to have the kid’s shoulders shrinking down from his ears, “Jack, how old are you?”

The kid gulps, “N-Nine and three quarters.”

Dean’s stomach rolls and he has to steady himself with a hand to Cas’s back, which has gone rigid.

“You’re...you’re nine years old, Jack?” His friend rasps. Dean’s been around Cas long enough to hear the almost invisible hitch of his words.

The kid nods, unconsciously keening into Cas’s hand which had frozen as well.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , he’s going young…” Dean says, though it’s barely a whisper.

With a staggered breath, Cas’s hand returns to normal and Jack’s exhausted face slackens a little at the comforting touch. Dean knows that feeling, too. All part of Cas’s healing magic, he supposes.

“Well,” Cas begins, glancing at Dean, “Are you hungry, Jack? Would you like some water maybe?”

A memory of Dean shyly getting Cas a glass of water that first night flashes in his mind.

Jack shakes his head, careful not to dislodge Cas’s hand. His legs squirm and his little-kid features pull into a grimace, “Don’t wanna stand anymore…”

Dean’s eyes dart to the white knuckles the boy has clasped on his jeans and the bite of his lip like he’s desperately trying to hold in his whimpers.

“Shit, yeah, of course. Here why don’t we…” With a psychic message and quick nod to his friend, Cas hops up onto the bed and puts their pillow over his crisscrossed legs. Dean reaches his arms out but is sure not to actually touch the boy, “I’m gonna lift you up onto the bed so you don’t, y’know, put any strain on anything. Sound like a deal? I swear I’ll be super gentle,” Jack’s eyes dart up to Cas for something, some kind of confirmation. And, yeah, Dean doesn’t remember that many people, but he’s pretty sure Cas has one of those faces that you just trust automatically. 

A shadow of a smile quirks Cas’s lips, and though the words are intended for Jack, his eyes never leave Dean, “It’s okay. Dean is one of the gentlest people I know. You can trust him.”

Something warm and fuzzy pops in Dean’s chest, heat pooling in his cheeks. What had he felt bad about before? He can’t really remember.

Jack turns back and gives a soft nod before reaching out his hands for Dean. Dark, shaggy hair and dimples flood Dean’s memory and his insides squeeze so hard he thinks he might die from it. The images fade in an instant and grey-blue stares up at him patiently.

Jack’s warm heavy weight as Dean scoops him up is familiar and lights Dean’s heart up like a Christmas tree. The kid winces, “I know, buddy. I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs, placing Jack as lightly as possible on his side with his head settling on Cas’s lap. He misses the familiar weight almost the second Jack’s out of his arms.

“Grab some water,” Cas says and Dean dashes to do just that. Though the kid is shaking, his eyes are relatively clear and focused. Cas props up Jack’s head and eases a few gulps past chapped lips, “There we go. Does that feel any better, Jack?”

The kid’s face is still ten different types of stunned, but he nods, “Mhm.”

“Good,” Cas set the glass on the plastic table, fingers going back to stroke through dark blonde strands. Dean feels all manner of useless, just standing here watching Cas take care of Jack so coolly. Shuffling his feet, Dean doesn’t realize he’s been staring at the ground until he hears his name and his eyes snap up, “...Dean and I will tell you as much as we know. But first we have to get you...cleaned up.”

“On it,” like a switch flicking in his brain, Dean goes into damage control mode. Taking care of injuries, protecting someone who Luc has also hurt--this he can do. He can be useful this way.

As he gets the pot boiling, Cas’s words drift to his ears and he watches his friend soothe the kid.

“Now this might hurt a little, but it will keep you from getting sick. Dean has done this for me as well, he’s always careful and we can even put on an animated movie if you’d like.”

Dean watches the little moment the two are having, and when he takes a second to tear his eyes off of the _new human being_ , he starts to catch Cas’s tells. Despite his friend’s smooth voice, there’s a little hitch to it, and he’s swallowing more than normal. His slender fingers shake ever so slightly with each pass through the long-ish, blonde strands.

“N-No, thank you,” the boy murmurs.

_Well he’s certainly a polite little guy._

“Alright, we don’t have to watch a movie--but it might serve as a good distraction,” Cas worries his lip but his words were sturdy.

“Where…” Jack’s eyes dart around the room and his mouth only hangs open, the rest of his sentence lost.

“Well,” Dean rubs the back of his neck and his eyes flicker to Cas, “That’s a good question. We, uh, we live in Luc’s basement. That asshole--”

“Language, Dean,” Cas chides.

“‘Language?’ Since when, dude?” 

Cas only shrugs and resigned eyes fall back down to Jack, “Sorry. Old habit, I guess.”

“Oh,” Dean licks his lips and continues, “Anyway, that guy is Luc. He’s the reason all of us are here.”

Jack’s knuckles are turning white where they’re balled up in the fabric of Cas’s jeans.

“And...where’s ‘here?’”

Fresh tears are brimming on the kid’s lower lashes, one blink from falling.

“Uh,” Dean’s eyes drop back to the floor. The bubbling squeals of Sammy laughing starts to morph and ring in Dean’s ears, turning into the shrill screams that Luc would’ve gotten off on. Dean blinks and the sounds vanish like smoke in the sky, “somewhere in Kansas...we think. Even if it’s Missouri we can’t be too far from the border since the grocery store Luc gets our stuff from is in Kansas…”

Jack doesn’t look like that was the answer he was looking for. But what else can Dean actually tell him? _‘We’re in some kinda crazy sex-torture dungeon and you’re about to wish you’d never been born?’_

“Where are you from, Jack?” Cas asks gently, shifting the pressure of those grey-blues off his pinkening face.

“L-Lebanon,” Jack murmurs. In an instant his face scrunches up and those held tears slide down his face. He turns and buries his face in the folds of Cas’s shirt which covers his caved-in stomach, “I just w-wanna go home...I want my m-mommy... _please…_ ”

Shudders wrack the kid’s small frame as Cas whispers little lies like ‘it’s okay’ and ‘I’ve got you.’ But it’s not okay. And _Luc_ is the one who’s got them.

Dean turns back to the nearly boiling pot before the knot in his throat grows any tighter.

By the time the water has cooled enough, and Dean is setting all the cleaning stuff out within easy reach of the bed, Jack’s cries have simmered to low whimpers that are easier for Dean to block out.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean says as he sidles you to his friend and the little guy. He pats Jack’s leg like he’s trying not to startle a spooked horse, “Clean-up time. Like Cas said, this is gonna hurt a little, but I’ll be as quick as I can, alright?”

The kid hugs Cas’s waist a little tighter, but nods against the older boy with only a small glance towards Dean. Dean’s eyes check in with Cas who also gives him a little nod. With everyone on board, Dean sets about cleaning with the A+ balance of speed and carefulness that comes from a horrifying amount of practice. Jack squirms more out of instinct to avoid pain than actually trying to pull away. When Dean nears the...impact site, Jack starts crying again. Dean zeroes in on the task at hand, clearing his mind of all the details and focusing on _cleaning_.

It’s not until the last traces of anything are wiped away from the abused area and the pot and rags have been swept away that Dean lets himself look up. Jack’s back falls in even, slow breaths and it takes a second for Dean to realize the kid had cried himself to exhaustion. He rubs at his own chest where a painful squeeze under his ribs makes him wish that he were unconscious, too.

The look on Cas’s face doesn’t help any.

Dean clears his throat, though he knows his voice will crackle anyway, “Is he out?”

His friend’s red-rimmed gaze meets his. Cas nods, his fingers trembling as they continue to card through Jack’s hair.

“W-What are we supposed to do, Dean?”

It’s the question Dean’s brain has been running defeated circles around since Luc plopped Jack onto the concrete.

“I don’t know,” Dean sighs, eyes falling to Jack’s sleeping form.

“We can’t just let Luc—” the words die on Cas’s tongue and the dullness in Cas’s eyes lights like the fire Dean had caught a glimpse of earlier, “He’s just a child, Dean!”

“Look at us, Cas!” Dean snaps because every second he looks at Jack a new way Luc will brutalize that tiny body pops into his head and there’s not a goddamn thing he can do to stop it, “What the hell are we, huh? Since when the fuck have we have had control over any of this? We can’t _do_ anything!”

“We could escape!”

Dean freezes, stomach plummeting to the soles of his feet.

 _“I really didn’t wanna do it, Dean. Sammy’s so cute and small and...innocent. Well--at least he_ was _.”_

They—they can’t. They can’t escape! Luc will catch them, and he’ll kill Dean’s parents like he killed Sammy. O-Or he’ll kill all of them in his rage. 

A thought creeps up his spine like an icy spider: Luc wouldn’t kill _all_ of them. He’d kill Cas and Jack and leave Dean alive because the sick fuck knows that that would break Dean once and for all.

_“So, what are you never gonna try to do again, Dean?”_

“Dean?” A thumb swipes under Dean’s eye, chasing a wet trail he didn’t even feel. His eyes refocus. Had he greyed-out again? Cas is standing in front of him now, bright baby blues scanning over his features, “Dean, can you hear me?”

A noise clicks in Dean’s throat and he blinks at his friend, “Y-Yeah.”

Cas’s shoulders slump considerably and a relieved sigh huffs out of him. The gentle fingers that had ran through Jack’s hair now run through his own, a warm arm going up to wrap around his shoulders. Dean’s muscles feel tight and unmovable, but Cas stays by him regardless.

“Where did you go?” Cas hums.

The tension in his body snaps like a twig and he loosens under his friend’s touch. He licks his lips, “I can’t lose you, Cas.”

Cas’s brow furrows and the arm holding him draws them unconsciously closer, “Why would you lose me? I wouldn’t leave without you; we’d escape together or not at all—”

Dean closes the gap between them and wraps his friend in a squeezing hug, clinging to Cas like the needy bitch he knows he is, “Please don’t leave me, Cas, he’ll k-kill you, please, I-I-I’m begging you don’t—“

“Dean, you’re shaking.”

That sounds about right since half of him is a little numb, like he can feel every square inch of skin where he’s pressed against Cas, but the rest of him could be papier-mache for all he knows. It’s not until the warm weight of arms settles around his waist that Dean takes a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“I can’t—Without you, I—”

“Shhh,” Cas murmurs against his ear, sending tingles across his skin, “I’m not going anywhere, alright? We don’t have to do anything. I’m not going to leave. I didn’t mean to upset you, Dean, I just feel so…”

“Helpless?” Dean sighs, gulping, “Heh. Yeah, I hear ya.”

In a voice that barely carries across the inches between them, Cas says, “I don’t know if I can watch Luc…”

“I know,” Dean squeezes his eyes closed, focusing all his attention into the place where their foreheads are tipped together.

“How did _you_ even watch me…?”

Dean’s throat clicks and he opens his eyes before any images can take over the blackness.

“I, uh...I dunno, Cas,” he murmurs, “I didn’t really have a choice. All I could do was take care of you as best I could _when_ I could--God knows I fucked that up a few--”

A soft press of lips against his sends Dean’s thoughts scattering pleasantly, like throwing leaves up in the air and watching them rain down. It’s a quick kiss, no doubt trying to stop that train of thought in its tracks. Well, mission accomplished. His friend’s hands smooth at the nape of his neck, thumb tracing the shell of his ear in a way that has his body humming in no time flat, all worries forgotten for a split second.

When the lips draw back, and Dean’s eyes slide open, blue pools meet him.

“In that case,” Cas’s warm breath sighs against Dean’s cheek, “ _We_ will just have to do the best we can.”

**||||||||||||||||||||**

**_Sammy,_ **

**_Hey, kid. I don’t even know how to_ **

The pen shakes in Dean’s hand. He taps it against his thigh until he can grip it steadily again. He draws in a deep breath through his nose, trying to force all the tension out through his mouth but a choked hiccup comes out instead. He glances back towards the bed where Cas is napping with Jack tucked into his chest. Neither flinches. Dean turns back to the paper and crosses out the line.

**_~~Hey, kid. I don’t even know how to~~ Even if...things were different, you’d never see this letter anyway. I’m probably just gonna fucking rant at this piece of paper like a crazy person but it’s not like I get a lot of privacy to rant at Cas anymore. Besides, I don’t wanna see him cry again. Yeah and this page is gonna end up a ball in the trash bag no matter what, so I suppose it doesn’t matter what I write, huh?_ **

**_How do I even fucking_ describe _the screams, Sammy? I don’t know what that sick fuck was doing to him---and I don’t ever wanna--but Jack just wouldn’t stop screaming and I_**

Dean squeezes his eyes as a wave spasms through his chest. A noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper slips past Dean’s lips before he can stop it. Cas and Jack still don’t move.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean grits out with a wet inhale. He swipes a hand over his face and blames the new wetness on his palms being sweaty. He kinda wants to stop writing...but the knot in his stomach is already starting to untwist a little. Hell if he knows why, but it’s also making the echoes of Jack’s screams start to recede in Dean’s head.

He turns back to the notebook and grips his pen a little tighter.

**_...I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kill Luc more. It fucking scared me how much I ~~wanted~~ _want _to kill him. When he took Jack back to the Playroom, and left me and Cas here, and I saw the look on that poor kid’s little face--I wanted to rip Luc’s throat out._**

**_As Luc started doing whatever shit he was doing and Jack started wailing--I thought I’d grey out or something but every shriek was clear as a goddamn bell and, Sammy, he’s a fucking baby just like_ **

Dean blinks. Sammy would’ve been a teenager by now. Dean blinks again. 

_Moving on._

**_To not be able to save him, not be able to at least hold his hand or not feel so completely useless...I wanted to scream, too. And Cas actually did._ **

Dean’s chuckle is more of a gasp, but the sound dissolves into the silence of the room. The image of tears streaming down Cas’s flushed face, startled yelps breaking past the hands which Cas had clutched over his mouth…

There was so much pain in Cas’s eyes as he’d stared at the wall they shared with the Playroom, no doubt picturing all the messed-up shit Dean had been trying not to...

**_Cas cried...a lot. More than I’ve seen him cry in a while and just--fuck. When he started trying to call Jack’s name through the wall? Telling the kid he was right there, that it was all going to be okay? Sammy, I can’t_ **

It takes a second for Dean to realize that that weird noise is his sock rubbing across the concrete as his leg bounces wildly under the table. He thinks about putting a hand on his knee to stop it, but fuck it, it feels kinda nice to have all the high-strung feelings getting run out of his system.

**_I’ve never seen him like that. At least, not that I can remember. But that weird fiery thing in his eyes--knowing Jack was being hurt just on the other side of that wall and there was nothing he could do about it--I’m pretty sure I was looking in a mirror. And, Jesus Christ, when the screaming and noises suddenly stopped, I thought Cas was gonna pass out from how all the color just drained right out of his face..._ **

**_We both thought the old bastard had killed him._ **

Dean’s spine wracks for a second as a shiver passes down it. Dropping the pen to the paper, Dean crosses his arms over his chest and surveys his words. Cas’s pale, tear-streaked face and the way Dean had had to ring an arm around that thin waist when his friend started to sway….

He’d steadied Cas down into a chair, but before he could even get a look at the other boy, Cas had buried his face in Dean’s stomach and sobbed like it was his first night at Luc’s all over again.

**_But I should’ve known better than to think Luc would kill one of his precious fuck toys when he just got it. Jack was still alive...but that’s really all he had going for him. He was a mess, Sammy._ **

The minute Dean had heard the groan and hitch of the third door opening and only Luc’s smug face poke in, he was completely sure Luc was gonna make some joke about the kid not being able to handle him before heading upstairs to bury the body. Instead, still buckling his belt like a taunt, Luc had told Dean that the kid’s legs weren’t working or something and needed to be carried. Before the sentence had even fully left those pale lips, Dean had been rounding the corner to the Playroom. He’d kept his eyes down the second he saw a flash of the paddles on the walls, following Jack’s whimpers instead.

Like he said...Jack had been a mess.

Cas had helped Dean shuffle the half-conscious boy’s body onto their bed as soon as Dean had returned, and Luc had slammed the door behind him. And if Dean thought Cas had been crying a lot before...

**_That was a while ago now. Maybe a week? Maybe a few weeks? I guess it doesn’t really matter. Luc hasn’t gotten bored of hurting the kid even a little, but at least Cas, me, or both of us have been with him every time since. It’s not much and sure as fuck isn’t in the same universe as a good thing--but it’s something._ **

**_He’s not like Cas was though. Cas would go silent and still like he wasn’t even real anymore, or like he was waiting for the ground to crack open beneath him and swallow him whole. Jack doesn’t do either of those things. The poor kid cries every time. Long and deep and it breaks my fucking heart, Sammy. I usually can’t look at him too long if I don’t wanna turn into a complete wreck myself. I’m kinda glad Cas is better at taking care of him than me--I have no friggin’ idea what I’d do if it was just me and the kid. Cas is so good at making sure Jack calms down enough to go to sleep, it’s like magic. I still have no clue how he does that when I can see his throat bobbing like he wants to let it all out, too._ **

**_There is one thing, though._ **

The pen hovers over the page. Should he? It feels really weird to even think about, let alone jot it down in black and white.

 **_~~There is one thing, though.~~ _ ** ~~~~

Nah. Sammy doesn’t need to hear about that, too. But...if this is just going in the trash...

**_~~There is one thing, though~~._ **

**_There is one_ **

No. Nevermind. It’s just a weird thing that’ll probably pass anyway in a few weeks.

 **_~~There is one thing, though.~~ _ ** ~~~~

**_~~There is one~~ _ ** ~~~~

Fuck it.

 **_~~There is one thing, though.~~ _ ** ~~~~

**_~~There is one~~ _ ** ~~~~

**_There is one thing, though. It started a day or two after Jack got here. It’s not...bad, exactly. It’s just weird, I guess? I don’t know. So, Jack really misses his mom, right? Like any sane, healthy kid would if they got fuckin’ plucked off the street on their way to preschool by a psycho. Except, Jack_ really _misses his mom. A lot. Like, cries-out-for-her-in-his-sleep-almost-every-night a lot. Jack sleeps against the wall (we figured out pretty quick that it helps get him to sleep easier if he knows Luc has to go through me and Cas to get to him), and since Cas is usually the PB &J of the sandwich, he talks Jack down when the kid has a nightmare and hugs him or whatever. Y’know, normal stuff. But then one night...I don’t know if Jack wasn’t crying but, like, not fully awake, but he started calling Cas “Mommy.” _**

**_I was only half awake, too, so I didn’t really give it a second thought. But it’s gotten_ **

Shit. Is there a better word than “weirder?” Not really, no.

**_But it’s gotten weirder. When Jack’s having a rough night, Cas will play along. Not just that. He’ll call himself that to get Jack to calm down. He’ll rock the kid like he’s a baby and say stuff like “I’m right here, Jack. Mommy’s right here.” What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?_ **

**_Of course, I’m not gonna say anything about it. Cas has always been a weird, dorky guy_ **

Dean’s heart thumps a little kinder as a quick flash of a smile passes over his mind’s eye. He glances over at his napping friend again. Ruffled black hair shoots off in all directions, just begging for Dean to run his fingers through it.

**_and so maybe this is just a new flavor of crazy down here. Cas hasn’t mentioned it at all to me...so I guess we’ll just wait and see? At least Jack doesn’t cry so much since they started. Still freaks me out, but I’ll live._ **

**_I think that’s all I got, Sammy. Love you, buddy._ **

**_Your favorite brother in the whole wide world,_ **

**_Dean_ **

Even tearing up the piece of paper feels like too much energy. And, honest to God, Dean’s not sure his twitching fingers are up to the task. Instead, he slams the notebook cover shut, blocking his words from his own eyes.

 _Outta sight, outta mind._ Dean snorts to himself, _Yeah, I wish._

After hooking the pen--this one advertises for some sort of landscaping business and not a bank--Dean stands from his chair. He leans against the table until the dizziness fades, then, quiet as can be, he tucks the notebook under the mattress where he usually keeps it.

He wipes his tacky palms on his jeans before he starts to climb up onto the bed. No fucking way he’s going to sleep, but he needs to feel Cas right now, needs to feel his friend’s chest rise and fall with each breath.

“Hmm?” Cas grumbles at the shifting of the bed, arms unconsciously tightening around Jack. Sliding up, Dean situates himself behind Cas.

“Just me, buddy,” Dean whispers, not able to help the corners of his mouth from drawing up at the cute, scrunched face Cas makes at being disturbed, “Just joining you guys. Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay…” Cas’s head flops back to the side like he’s burying his face in the kid’s dark blonde mop.

Dean crawls under the covers, drawing the warm cocoon back up around them. His arm slides up over Cas’s waist, stroking the warmth of his belly through his friend’s t-shirt. Cas hums a smooth noise that ripples through Dean like bath water.

It feels kinda weird to not be able to put his head on Cas’s chest or to not have Cas’s on his, but he pushes the thought to the side and nuzzles the soft hair at the nape of his friend’s neck. He presses a kiss there, rubbing his hand in tiny circles just below bony ribs.

“I love you, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t answer, so Dean figures he’s already asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I can't believe we're already to the 8th chapter!! Thank you so much for reading <3


	9. "Communication Breakdown"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Communication Breakdown" by Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can NOT believe that in less than 48 hrs. we'll actually know how Supernatural, as a whole series, ends. I hope you enjoy this especially long chapter in celebration!  
> Also, I got a question about my chapter release schedule, so here's the tentative plan: I will be releasing a new chapter every Wednesday evening, and I'll let you know the week beforehand if I anticipate any problems.  
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR STICKING AROUND IF YOU'VE MADE IT THIS FAR!!  
> I love and appreciate all the feedback I've gotten!  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

Dean feels all sorts of warm as his sticky eyes slowly start to open. Of course, he doesn’t actually see what’s so warm since it’s nearly pitch black in their little room, but that’s certainly not a surprise anymore. He doesn’t need to see that it’s Cas to feel the slight expansion of his friend’s chest with every sleepy breath he takes. Dean also doesn’t need to see to be able to feel comforted by the smooth jut of hip where his palm had landed at some point during the night.

Dean hums, breathing in the chilly morning air and drawing Cas’s body a little closer to his. At some point they must’ve shuffled around because now Cas was almost entirely tucked in next to Dean, head squished up under his chin like he’d tried to bury himself in the older boy’s chest.

Pressing a kiss to his friend’s temple, Dean soaks in this little sunny moment. God knows when the next one will be.

He doesn’t realize he must’ve gone back to dozing until he feels the hot press of lips against his cheek and blunt nails lightly scritching over his scalp, sending little tingles down to his icy toes.

“Hmmm,” Dean grunts, keening into both sensations. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas murmurs with a light chuckle.

Hands moving of their own accord, Dean feels for Cas’s soft skin, pulling the other boy impossibly closer until their hips line up. The hardness in his dick that he sometimes happens in the morning or when he has to pee lines up with Cas’s and he sighs at the sparkly sensation that seems to vibrate in his thighs. Cas gives a similar grunt, canting his hips forward ever so slightly.

“Dean...” Cas says in a warning tone. Dean’s hand slides down to cup his friend’s bony ass and give it a light squeeze.

“He’s asleep, Cas,” Dean murmurs, his other hand patting around until he can gently cup Cas’s jaw, guiding their mouths together. Their sour breath hardly registers in Dean’s brain as Cas snakes a thigh around Dean’s middle and slips his tongue past Dean’s lips.

“I suppose--” Cas mumbles between kisses that click in the silence of the room, “You have a point.”

“Damn right I do,” Dean smirks and he can practically hear his friend’s eyeroll. His toes curl as slender fingers trace lightly along his neck. It makes him squirm with a new idea, “Hey...Cas?”

Cas gives one final kiss to Dean’s jaw before he replies, “Hmm?” 

“Can you, uh, do...y’know…?” Dean certainly doesn’t need light to picture the confused squint he is no doubt and the receiving end of. Goddammit, why can’t he just spit it out?

“What?” Cas whispers.

“I, uh, the... _y’know_ …”

Frustration starts to roil inside of Dean. Given all the shit Luc does it shouldn’t be so damn difficult to say the words. But a part of him thinks that maybe it’s _because_ they’re Luc’s words that he doesn’t want to say them.

“I don’t understand, Dean.”

Dean gives a grunt and, finding Cas's hand he guides it up to his neck, patting the soft pads of Cas’s fingers against his Adam’s apple, tipping his head back to expose his throat, “Kiss...please?”

“Oh!” Cas excitedly whispers. Dean moans in relief when Cas wiggles closer and that soft, wet tongue finally laves at the sensitive column of his neck.

“Hu-unnh…”

“Like this?” Cas murmurs, the words buzzing less than an inch from Dean’s skin.

His eyes roll back, and every inch of him tingles like Cas’s tongue is made of lightning, “Y-Yea-- _ahh_. Y-Yeah…” With a little chuckle that would’ve had Dean’s cheeks flaming if he were in his right mind, Cas returns to rocking Dean’s fucking world, “M-More...ple--”

“I’ve got you,” Cas’s arms wrap around Dean like an octopus and Dean is _flying_. 

With his eyes squeezed shut, there’s just Cas and how good his mouth feels and how warm he is and how fan-fucking-tastic the shivers running Dean’s spine feel--

“Wha…?” A sleepy groan from Cas’s other side has them freezing like robbers caught in a heist. Jack shifts and moves the covers in the darkness. His breathing gets thick in the silent room. Dean hears a wet gulp and knows, even before Cas starts drawing away from him, that any touching time with Cas is over.

“It’s alright, Jack,” His friend’s voice has changed on a dime. Dean feels cold all over the second Cas’s body rolls away from his, “It’s just us.”

Dean hears the rustle of hair and he can picture the fingers that had been wrapped in his own hair seconds ago now gently running through the kid’s longer strands. He shivers and pulls his portion of the scratchy blanket up to his chin.

Everything had felt so nice. Now he feels like he’s crashing down to Earth again. With Cas’s weight gone from him and only the sides of their waists touching, Dean feels too heavy and cold like a giant rock. He stares into the darkness, just listening to the sound of Cas humming to Jack. When was the last time he hummed something for Dean? Was it all the way back the night Jack got there?

Slowly, Dean turns to his side, back to Cas and Jack. He starts running his fingers through his own hair until he drifts into an uneasy doze.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Dean shuffles over to the sink, the stack of their plastic utensils and supper dishes a wonky pile in his arms. He starts to fill up the basin, plugging the drain, and adding the rationed drop of dish soap to get everything all bubbly.

“Jack,” Cas sighs behind him, still sitting at the table. Dean glances back. The kid is still perched on the bed where he’d sat for dinner since Luc can’t do fucking math for how many chairs three people need. Shaggy blonde hair hangs over his thin face as he stares at the little clock in his hands. He doesn’t even seem to have heard Cas, “Jack, counting down the minutes doesn’t help. Believe me.”

“B-But,” Jack’s grey eyes stay fixed on the blinking digits as he gulps, “I don’t want--it’s scarier if it’s a surprise, Cas.”

Dean turns his eyes back to the sudsy water and away from the red starting to line the kid’s lashes. Jack had been looking at the clock a lot lately. Like, somehow, if Luc storming down the stairs doesn’t surprise him everything that follows will hurt less.

Cas’s chair squeaks behind him, the rustle of his friend scratching the back of his neck the only other noise besides Dean wiping down the dishes. Cas has been doing that a lot, too. Fidgeting. Honestly, he didn’t know the dude even knew how to fidget. The boy sighs again, “Yes. I know, but…”

Dean gets it. It makes his own stomach tighten like that to watch Jack stare at that thing. It’s like he can also feel the minutes flying right out the window they don’t have. One minute closer to Luc. One more minute in Hell.

At the same time, though, he gets why Jack does it. Fuck, that’s maybe the least weird thing Jack could be doing right now. At least the kid isn’t crying (yet) or pulling out his hair or something.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs over his shoulder. Even if he can’t see it, he can feel the warmth of Cas’s eyes on the back of his head, “It’s just what he needs to do right now, buddy. It ain’t hurting him any.”

With a more resigned sigh this time, Dean can picture Cas’s chin dipping down to his chest, “I suppose you’re right.”

The heaviness in the other boy’s voice makes Dean’s bones ache a little. He pushes the feeling to the side, shooting a wink over his shoulder at his friend, “I’m always right, dude.”

The ache fades when that beautiful shadow of a smile ghosts over Cas’s features.

Dean’s setting the last of the dishes onto the drying towel laid out next to the sink when the ceiling rumbles. Luc is here.

This time when Dean shoots Cas a look, any glimmer of amusement is long gone. Jack is jumping off the bed in an instant, tucking himself slightly behind Cas and Dean. From where he can see, one of the kid’s hands is even balled up in the back of Cas’s t-shirt.

When the third door opens Dean doesn’t even get a chance to savor the flash of fresh air that follows Luc before the man is slamming the door shut behind him again. 

“Well look at you,” Luc coos, sliding his jacket off with a sickeningly sweet grin, “All lined up and welcoming me home like I’m Mike fucking Brady or something. You guys really know how to make a gal feel special.”

As always, Luc crowds in on Dean first. Thick hands slither up to cup Dean’s jaw squashing their lips together and slipping his bossy tongue past Dean’s lips. After the split second he needs to tamp down the flaming panic in his belly, Dean presses back as much as he can. When Luc draws away, the dark glint in his eye makes him look like a lion sizing up a zebra.

“Hey--” Dean gulps and forces the corners of his lips up, “Hi, baby.”

“Hey, doll face, have you been a good boy today?” Luc leers. 

_Fuck! He probably wants to play a “naughty-boy” game or some shit like that tonight._

Dean’s chin drops, eyes examining the chilly concrete beneath his feet.

“A-Always, Luc.”

“Mmm. Of course you have been, Dean. Such a boy scout for me, huh?” Luc leans in, pointy teeth grazing Dean’s cheek before stepping back. His steely eyes fly over to Cas, “How about you, angel? Has my little spitfire been getting into any trouble?”

Dean can practically hear Cas’s teeth grind before he calmly says, “I’ve been good today, Luc.”

Luc snorts with an amused roll of his eyes as he pushes into Cas’s space. Meaty arms wind around Cas’s shoulders, the hands that had been feeling up Dean now fall to the round of Cas’s ass. Luc gives a squeeze and an appreciative groan, hips starting to cant against Cas--

“Cas?” Jack whimpers.

Dean’s spine feels like ice and he takes a step further in front of Jack without thinking. Luc’s movements halt. 

“Jack, don’t--” 

The air rings with the cracking slap Luc lands across Cas’s face. Flames start to lick in Dean’s belly, but his body hardly flinches at the familiar sound.

Luc’s narrowed gaze doesn’t leave Jack as he pushes Cas to the side, stepping in front of Jack and towering over the poor kid.

“You got something to say, kitten?” Luc clicks in a voice that’s just this side of too friendly, “‘Cause I’d sure love to hear it.”

“N-N-No, I didn’t--” Tremors are visible as they shake down the kid’s small frame, his head bowed and his fists balled in the hem of his own t-shirt now, “I-I-I-I--”

“ _I-I-I_ just what, fuckhole?” Luc mocks, suddenly grabbing hold of that grown out hair and yanking Jack’s head up to face him, “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Jack winces, a mini waterfall of words tumbling from his lips, “I-I’m s-sorry, Luc, I just--I didn’t mean--”

“You know what I think?” Jack’s jaw snaps shut, and he stares up at Luc with wide eyes that make Dean a little weak in the knees, “I think someone still hasn’t learned not to speak unless spoken to--”

“No, no, I swear-- _ahh_!” Jack squeaks as Luc yanks on his hair again, even harder this time. Just slightly behind Luc, Dean sees Cas flinch, slender hands curling into fists at his sides.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Luc tsks, “Jack, Jack, Jack. This is the problem. You never interrupt me,” Jack starts nodding immediately against the vice grip in his hair, biting his lip to keep another squeak from seeping out. Luc sighs like a disappointed father, shaking his head before meeting Jack’s eyes with one of the stoniest gazes Dean’s ever seen on him, “You gotta learn the rules, Jack. Ya see, Dean and Cas _aren’t_ about to get their brains fucked out of them _precisely_ because they know when to keep their cum-dumpster mouths shut. But I guess I’m going to have to teach you the hard way. _Alone._ ”

All the color disappears from Jack’s soft features in a heartbeat. Tears are springing to his blank face even as his legs start to give out and he crashes to the floor and out of Luc’s grasp. With a pissed growl, Luc lunges at the ragdoll of Jack’s body. The next second, Luc is dragging Jack by the hair toward the door as the kid’s legs amble to get underneath him, trying to get some grounding so his hair isn’t torn from his scalp. 

Dean’s legs are carrying him to Luc before he can tell them to. He lowers his eyes slightly, reaching out a soft hand to Luc’s side, trying his damnedest to show that Dean is all Luc’s if the man will just focus on him instead, “Baby, I--”

Pain flares hot and sore when one giant hand grabs Dean’s jaw, fingers and blunt nails digging into his cheeks. The squeeze of the hand has Dean’s eyes bulging out and heartbeat pounding behind his temples as Luc yanks his gaze up to meet eyes of fire.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up right now I’m going upstairs, getting my .38, and shooting both of these little bastards right between the eyes,” Luc snarls, the vein in his forehead popping like an angry slug, “Do you get me, you dumb slut? Huh?”

He barely has a second to blink before Luc is using the grip on his jaw to slam Dean into the wall, only realizes it when all the air gets knocked right out of his lungs.

Dean’s stomach drops to his toes and his limbs go as frozen and stiff as a statue against the cold wall. 

“Take me!” Panic and anger are doing an ugly dance in Cas’s eyes as he scrambles towards them. Jack is flailing his arms out toward Cas, hands clawing at the air like he’s being dragged to the firing squad. 

Grabbing fingers sink into Cas’s arms and Jack desperately tries to reel himself back to the older boy. Everything goes in slow motion from there as grey starts to cloud the edges. Dean wants to move. Luc screaming at Cas echoes in his ears like the man is screaming in a cave. As he throws Jack to the ground like a broken toy all Dean can do is absorb the roar of Luc’s voice and the dull thud of Jack hitting the concrete. 

His legs burn, like all the blood and nerves in his body are screaming to run, to help. But his muscles aren’t moving, so he stays. Things are even hazier, though, as the _smack_ of Luc’s fist hitting Cas’s jaw has Dean’s stomach doing a wet roll. Cas’s body crumples as Jack’s had, with a gargled moan. Why can’t Dean move? His best friend needs him! How can Cas be so brave, and Dean be so... _Dean_? 

He’s pretty sure, however, that he actually does make a sound when Luc wrestles Cas into his meaty arms and starts to drag him out the door instead. It’s a throaty sound, if he’s not imagining it. Dean wants to throw himself at Luc’s feet and beg. He’s not quite sure what for, anything really. Just so long as Cas isn’t taken away from him.

He’s still standing by the table with his hands at his sides when the third door slams shut, and the muffled voices travel farther away. His eyes are unfocused but fixed on Jack who is curled up on his side, wet tracks lining his cheeks and upper lip.

It isn’t too long before they can both hear Cas’s screams through the walls.

It seems to last for hours, and the grey never fully comes.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

The hum of the pipes in the walls is the only sound this morning. Dean hardly notices it anymore, except on days like this when even Cas’s whimpers are too quiet to hear. Of course, without anything else to listen to, Luc’s yelling and Cas’s screams have nothing stopping them from making a sick feedback loop in his head.

He’d had to carry Cas out of the Playroom last night. The sick fuck even made Dean suck off the mess on his cock before he let Dean go to his friend. He’d had to stare at Cas’s lolling, mottled face, his angry, puffy entrance...all while tasting his friend’s blood and Luc’s spend slither down his throat. The grey hadn’t saved him from remembering that, though.

Sliding two bowls onto the table and grabbing the toasted bread from off the camp stove, Dean glances to the bed. Cas is a lump under the covers, huddled around Jack like a little kid holding his teddy bear. Jack’s eyes are open, already a little misty for 8-something in the morning. The kid isn’t moving, though, and Dean can see in his eyes a glimmer of something to match his own insides. He didn’t know that guilt was so easy to spot, but there it is. Dark and haunting, as obvious as the blonde hair making a halo against the arm Cas has tucked under the kid’s little head.

Dean shuffles his socked feet over, Jack’s puppy eyes tracking him the whole way.

“Breakfast,” Dean murmurs, eying the pulled thread in the blanket instead of Jack. The kid gives a little nod but still doesn’t move, glancing at where he’s woven in by Cas’s arms. With a chuckle that has Dean gulping back a pebble, he nods toward the table, “He’ll be fine. You’ve gotta eat something.”

Jack’s lips part on a sigh as he slowly slips out of the older boy’s hold.

“Nnh?” Cas’s closed eyes scrunch, and he grunts, now-empty arms twitching. Dean strokes his friend’s fluffy hair back, his body feeling a little warmer when Cas’s soft face starts to relax, eyes still lightly shut. Leaning closer he presses a kiss to one temple, hovering just long enough to whisper, “It’s okay, he’s just having breakfast. Go back to sleep, buddy.”

With a last twitch of limbs, Cas settles again and Dean replaces the blanket over black and blue arms.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

It wasn’t too long after breakfast that Cas woke up. Dean hadn’t heard the mumbles of Cas rising to consciousness, but almost as soon as pale blue eyes had opened, they were filled with tears. His friend had pulled the blankets tighter and rolled to the side to look at the wall. Dean wasn’t really surprised it was a buckling-like-a-house-of-cards kinda day for Cas, but it still didn’t hurt any less to watch. Jack had pulled his knees up to his chest at the sight and Dean patted his shoulder as he had made his way over to the bed. Without a word, he’d climbed in behind his friend, pulling the other boy against his chest and burying his face in raven hair. He’s pretty sure he mumbled something to Cas. It was probably along the lines of “I’ve gotcha” or “I love you,” but all Dean knew for sure was that eventually Cas had rolled back around, burying the chilly point of his nose in the crook of Dean’s neck, and sobbed.

At some point Jack had climbed up with them. Tucking himself in against Cas’s back in the same way Cas had held him that morning. 

Dean isn’t even aware he’d napped until his eyes slide open and his stomach gives a hungry garble. He combs through the dark bedhead that his fingers had tangled in at some point. Light little breaths make his skin tingle at the warmth where his friend’s soft lips softly snore against him. He might not have been able to save Cas last night, but he can’t help but wondering if maybe he saved Cas a little bit this morning.

Another hungry growl of his stomach pulls him from his thoughts. Sleepy, grey eyes pop over Cas’s shoulder at the noise, blinking at Dean. Jack yawns, smacking his lips and letting his chin rest easily on Cas’s upper arm. A smile twitches at the corner of Dean’s lips at how the kid’s eyes flutter shut and he nods off again, even in the weird position. All that’s missing are the dimples.

“Alright, lunch I guess,” Dean grunts, gently untangling from Cas. His friend stirs more easily this time, baby blues taking in Dean at a glance, a little hint of a smile in his cheeks, “Hey.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas murmurs in a voice like a scratched-up cd. Cas winces at the sound, throat clicking around a gulp as that hint of a smile vanishes like it was never even there.

Dean steals another quick kiss to his friend’s forehead and, deciding that it’s his job to be the happy one today, he pushes a little lightness into his voice as he says, “How about I put on _Brother Bear_ and get some lunch going, huh?” His friend nods against the pillow. New tears slide down Cas’s cheeks, but he looks like he hadn’t really noticed them until Dean thumbs the wet trails away, “We can just take it easy today, bud. Sound like a plan?”

It’s such a joke. What else is there to do but sit on their asses all day and wait for Luc to stomp down the stairs? But Cas’s blanketed shoulders seem to relax, and he nods again, nuzzling against Dean’s knuckles.

“Okay,” his voice is fainter now--but at least he’s talking. His cheeks turn pink and eyes fall to where his fingers play at the hem of Dean’s shirt, “I...I think I’ll stay here though.”

Dean kinda figured so, and he strokes his palm over the beginnings of black stubble he swears hadn’t been there a month ago. His fingers come down to lift Cas’s chin, leaning in and planting a kiss on slightly chapped lips, “Okay.” 

When did he become such a giant sap? Cas barely needs to glance his direction and Dean is ready to give him a kidney if he needs one.

Steadying himself to stand beside the bed, Dean spends the few seconds it takes for the dizziness to pass holding his friend’s eye. He pops a smirk that makes Cas’s eyes twinkle.

Dean is reminded yet again what a goner he is.

“Can I help?” Jack asks, scooting out from his spot by the wall, climbing over Cas’s legs and grabbing onto Dean’s shirt when nearly launches himself onto the concrete.

A chuckle bubbling out of his chest, Dean says, “Watch out, kid.”

Jack rights himself almost immediately and it makes Dean’s chest squeeze. How many years has it been since he didn’t get black spots in his vision every time he made a sudden movement like that?

Bright eyes are looking up at Dean for a reply, and how does Jack have the same ability to smile without even moving his mouth? There’s such trust there that Dean knows he sure as shit hasn’t earned from the kid. Fuck, the only person he’s done less for than Jack is Sam, and that’s a pretty fucking low bar. But then he catches Cas’s dark blue gaze that has a little bit more hope than it did a second ago and, dammit, if this is what’ll make Cas feel better…

“Please?” Jack’s lips part over a gap-toothed grin. Dean is _such_ a sap.

“Sure, bud.”

**_||||||||||||||||||||_ **

By the time lunch is made, Cas is asleep again. Dean puts a towel over Cas’s plated sandwich, leaving the pot of noodles on the cool burner so he can easily heat them back up when Cas wants them. Hopefully, he’ll let Dean shovel at least a little food in him today, even if he doesn’t want to get up.

Jack dries the dishes as Dean washes them, cleaning their breakfast stuff up, too, ‘cause why not?

“Dean?”

Dean rinses off a fork, grunting, “Hmm?”

“How long have I been here?”

Surprisingly, Jack asks the question with a weirdly normal voice. Like he’s asking what Dean’s favorite animal is and not how long he’s been trapped in a fucking birdcage.

“Uh,” Dean licks his lips. It also hits him that this is one of the first times he’s been around Jack without Cas as a buffer.

When he glances over Jack’s expression matches his tone perfectly, “I’m not sure. Couple of months, maybe? How come?”

Shrugging, Jack tucks the fork into its home, holding out his hand for the plate in Dean’s grip, “I was just wondering. Hey, did you have a dad?”

Dean’s soapy fingers fumble the plate into the sink with a clatter that cracks in the otherwise quiet of the room. A glance over his shoulder shows Cas shift in his sleep but settle once again.

“Jesus,” There’s only curiosity in Jack’s eyes as he waits patiently for both the plate and a response, “What? Why?”

Jack shrugs again. How is the kid so goddamn nonchalant about this? Doesn’t it make his stomach feel all twisty and cramped up, too? Dean’s eyes drop back down to the sink, staring at the two remaining mugs rolling around at the bottom. They shimmer a little under the murky water whenever they catch the dim overhead light. They’re kinda pretty and Dean wants to watch them dance.

“I never had a dad,” Jack says, “I was just wondering if you did.”

Dean clears his throat, spinning the mugs under the water but not moving to scrub them, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.”

_Do. Not ‘did.’ Do. Maybe he’s sitting in his recliner in Lawrence right now._

Dean’s eyes start to sting, and it’s fucking ridiculous, but that stupid recliner is one of the only things he remembers about his dad.

“What was it like having a dad?” 

Dean clears his throat once more, but it still burns. He kicks into motion again, flipping the tap to run the next plate under, “I dunno. Nice, I guess. I don’t really remember.”

 _That’s not true. You just don’t want to remember_ , Dean squeezes his eyes shut before snapping them back open, _I bet if you think really, really hard you’ll remember something…_

Jack squints at Dean, clearly not the answer he was looking for.

Suddenly the image flashes in Dean’s mind: his dad is sitting in his recliner, and Dean is on the floor, leaning against the soft padding by the little pull handle. They’re both watching a movie. It was the one--the story--he had planned to tell Cas for his Christmas present.

_How the fuck did I forget about that?_

A chuckle that's more choked than Dean will admit rumbles up out of his chest and Jack’s little head tilt that’s so freakin’ Cas-like only makes him laugh a more.

“Dean?”

Some of the tightness fades from his chest with the last spasms of laughter, brushing at the bit of wetness on his lashes.

“When I was, like, your age,” Dean sighs, grabbing one of the mugs and begins to scrub it, “Dad woke me up one morning ‘cause one of his favorite movies was playing on TV. It was a cowboy movie...shit, I don’t remember the name of it, but it was _awesome_.” 

“Yeah?” Jack’s eyes brighten.

“Yeah, there were three main cowboys, I think. And they were all brothers. But then one of the brothers had this best friend who was named Doc Hollywood--no, Doc _Holliday_. He was so cool.”

Dean hands the mug over, letting the snippets of scenes flood through him, more than happy to get lost in them for a little while. Just like he’d been happy to get lost in the story of the angel, Castiel.

“Why was he cool?”

“Okay, since it was like super long ago, people used to get sick all the time. Or maybe just Doc did. I don’t remember--it doesn’t matter. Anyway, he was always coughing and looked pretty weak, but whenever one of the bad guys tried to get the drop on him because they thought he couldn’t fight back, Doc always won. He was like this gunslinging badass that was the best shooter in the room even if nobody else realized it,” Dean smiles to himself. “Doc always knew, though. He’d walk in anywhere, tall and proud like he belonged there.” 

Though the picture in his brain is clearer than it ought to be after this many years, it’s still fuzzy on details. But he remembers Doc’s eyes always looking like he had a secret, and Dean had gotten a fuzzy feeling in his stomach whenever Doc brought a cigarette up to his lips.

“Awesome,” Jack’s whole face fucking _twinkles._

“Yeah, and I remember this one scene where Doc is facing off this bad guy, and he’s, like, really sick. This dude that he faces off against--that’s been getting in his face all throughout the movie,” Dean unplugs the drain, taking the towel from Jack to wash his hands off. Jack is leaning his hip against the counter, and Dean follows suit, “Doc just appears out in the woods, and says ‘I’m your huckleberry’ in this awesome low, steady voice even though you can tell he’s trying to keep from coughing--”

“What’s a huckleberry?” Jack’s little arms cross over his chest. How did the kid pick up all of Cas’s little quirks so quick? Dean shakes the thought from his head.

“I think I asked my dad and he said it means ‘I’m your man,’ like ‘I’m the guy you’re looking for,’ or something like that. Anyway, then the bad guy gets all cocky, but when they draw their gun, Doc still draws faster and wins. Like I said, _awesome_.”

“And this was your Dad’s favorite movie?” Jack grins.

“Uh…”

The light feeling in Dean’s chest turns heavy again. Oh, right. For a half of a second, he’d forgotten. He tries to glance up, in his mind’s eye, to the figure sitting in the recliner. He’s wearing a flannel shirt, ‘cause Dean’s not sure he ever saw him without one. The table by the recliner is lined with empty cans that look like pop cans, but the smell makes his nose sting.

_Oh, that was beer wasn’t it? How the hell hadn’t I realized those were beer cans back then? And that same smell...after Luc has pounded back a few…_

But there’s something missing. Dean closes his eyes, trying to picture it, all of it. Recliner, flannel, beer cans. His dad, John Winchester, had a shock of dark hair almost the same color as Cas’s. Recliner, flannel, beer cans, black hair…

A lump Dean hadn’t even realized had been swelling in his throat suddenly gets too hard to breathe around. His eyes roll open, and wide grey eyes are staring up at him.

“Dean?” Dean’s throat clicks around a wet, whiny noise that he can’t reel in fast enough, “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“It’s--It’s gone,” Dean finally chokes out, “I-I can’t see his face anymore.”

Jack’s eyes go soft at that making him look thirty instead of ten.

Small arms are suddenly wrapping around Dean’s ribs as shaggy, blonde hair tucks under his chin. Dean rubs away the few tears that make their escape down his cheeks before they can get to Jack’s hair and alert the kid to the fact that he’s crying. Who’s he kidding? The kid can definitely feel his shaky breathing.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Jack murmurs against the older boy’s thin t-shirt, “Mom’s face is already starting to get blurry, too. It won’t be long for me either.”

Dean’s breath stutters. There’s nothing he can do about any of it, so he surrenders and wraps his own arms around the narrow shoulders, letting Jack be the grown up for a second.

Why is the world so goddamn exhausting today?

  
  


**||||||||||||||||||||**

  
  
  


When Dean wakes the following morning, his ass still screams and burns like a son of a bitch, but what feels worse is how cold the bed is. Dean’s eyes crack open, falling to where Cas is sitting at the table, Jack perched on his lap. A slight glow from the TV now illuminates their features. How didn’t he notice them get up? Or wake up from the TV going on, even if it’s muted? 

_Slept harder than I thought._

“It’s okay, Jack,” Cas whispers against the fluff of the kid’s hair, though Dean isn’t sure if the whispering is because he thinks Dean is sleeping or because Jack is. Jack’s soft lids are closed, a small furrow between his brows. He snuffles and Cas rubs a light hand over the kid’s cheek, gently avoiding the dark, swollen spots Luc had dished out on him last night since he was still in a shitty mood. Dean feels a squeeze in his chest.

“Ma…” Jack whimpers in his sleep, nuzzling closer into the crook on Cas’s neck.

“Shh,” Cas’s deep morning voice rumbles in the quiet, “Mommy’s here. It’s alright.”

Dean winces.

It’s not that Dean is upset or anything like that--whatever the whole Cas-playing-Mommy thing is, it obviously is helping the kid out some. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make Dean’s skin prickle.

When Jack starts to breath out soft snores, Dean figures Mommy Time is probably over for now and sits up, making his wakefulness known.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says, voice low enough not to disturb Jack. 

On instinct, Dean matches his tone, “Heya, Cas.”

Rubbing the last dregs of sleep from his eyes and stretching his arms above his head ‘til they give a satisfying _pop_ ; Dean finally gets a good look at his friend. 

He looks like shit.

The boy’s pale skin looks whitish and a decidedly unhealthy amount of green. The dark bags under his eyes would look more fitting on someone’s grandpa than they do on this fifteen-year-old. Cas’s chapped lips are set in a line that only twitches up slightly at the corner as he continues to hold Dean’s gaze. His baby blues look dull and grey.

“How did you sleep,” his friend asks. Dean’s eyes flit over Cas’s sunk cheeks.

“Okay,” pushing the covers to the side Dean draws up to his feet, tamping down his wince at the ungodly soreness that makes his stomach churn. Once the floor feels steady under his feet, Dean shuffles the short distance to his friend. Those heavy eyes flash with the spark Dean loves so much the closer he gets. He does his best to give Cas a genuine smile before running his hand along Cas’s jaw where it’s tilted up to look at him, “How about you, buddy? How did you sleep?” Cas’s eyes dart to the side and he shrugs, “That bad, huh?”

Cas worries his lip between his teeth and nuzzles against Dean’s hand. Warmth floods through Dean’s body and damn if he can’t keep himself from dropping a quick kiss to Cas’s forehead.

“I’m worried, Dean,” Cas whispers.

Dean’s not necessarily surprised by that response. There’s a fuck ton to be scared of day to day. He moves one hand to card fingers in his friend’s hair, “Yeah?”

Cas nods, eyes fluttering closed like Jack’s are.

“I know we have the First Aid box…” he sighs, eyes flitting back open with a new flare of barely restrained panic that gets Dean’s stomach in knots, “But the way that _monster_ hits Jack...if just _one_ of those cuts gets infected, Dean…”

“Hey,” Dean tries to soothe, scritching the soft hairs at the base of Cas’s neck, “We’ve made it this far, huh? If living with Luc hasn’t killed us, nothing can.”

Dean quirks his lips, hoping to see that shadow of a smile. Cas’s lips press into a thin line instead.

“I’m serious, Dean,” he huffs, “He doesn’t just do... _that_ stuff to, Jack. He beats him until he bleeds. It’s a wonder he’s lived this long.”

Dean’s muscles tighten and something spiky is beginning to coil in his belly, “What do you want me to do, Cas? This place has always been dangerous. Luc has beat the shit out of me plenty of times, and I’m still kickin’--”

“You can’t see out of your left eye properly, Dean, because of what that man has done to you. And you walk with a _permanent limp_.”

Dean flinches and his gaze drops to the floor. He knows. But if he starts thinking about all the things in his life that are fucked up because of Luc, he’d just end up curling into a ball in the corner, staring at the wall and needing to be fed through a tube for the rest of his life.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean grits, hand dropping from Cas’s face, “Thanks for the reminder,” Cas huffs a sigh and Dean can feel anger bubbling up. What right does Cas have to be pissy at him about this? Dean can’t rescue them--and don’t think that doesn’t anger the hell out of him every fucking second of the day, “But it hasn’t happened yet, so, what’s your point?”

“That’s not--You’re missing my meaning, Dean,” Cas whispers harshly, glancing down again to make sure Jack still hasn’t woken up, Dean tracks the glance and rolls his eyes. Not five minutes of talking and Cas is already thinking about the kid instead of Dean, the person he’s _actually_ speaking to. 

The kid mutters in his sleep and something a little softer thumps under Dean’s ribs. Gritting his teeth, Dean grabs the Walkman off the little plastic table, popping in _Master of Reality_ and cranking the volume down low. He slips the headphones over small ears as the tinny notes of “After Forever” rumble through the air. 

Cas’s eyes are less fiery when Dean meets them again, but there’s still tightness all over Dean’s body. 

Cas sighs and rubs his eyes, voice less of a whisper, “You’re such a loving, caring person, Dean,” Cas gestures to a soundly sleeping Jack with the headphones. Dean’s eyes drop to the floor as the tips of his ears heat up, “I just don’t understand why you don’t want to help him.”

“Of course I want to help him,” Dean huffs, eyes flying up, “I’d let Luc shoot me in the fucking face if I thought it’d get you guys out of here. What do you want, Cas? In case you hadn’t looked around, we don’t have any other options!”

“We could escape!” Cas snaps with pursed lips.

“How?” Dean’s skin starts to prickle with goosebumps and his palms go sweaty. For this split second, though, the anger is just barely keeping the paralyzing fear at bay, “It’s not gonna work, Cas! Don’t you think I’ve tried, huh? It’s just gonna end with all of us dead--”

Cas scoffs, “So you won’t even think about it? We can take him, Dean! We’re not little anymore!”

“But what if we can’t?” Dean’s fingers twitch and fidget at his side, every hair on his body feels on end, “Have you not heard a goddamn word I’ve said? We’d all _die_. Even if you don’t give a shit about my life, don’t you care what happens to Jack or yourself?”

Blue eyes dip with hurt, “Dean, that’s not fair. I never said--”

Blood is rushing in Dean’s ears and he does _not_ want to hear it.

“All I’m saying is there’s no way out, so there’s no point in complaining--besides you and I have just as much chance of getting infected or whatever as Jack. But, like I said, I’m still alive.” 

“Yes, I know, but Jack’s not like you, Dean, he’s--” Cas’s mouth suddenly clamps shut and Dean catches a guilty twinge in his friend’s eyes before those dark blue pools are examining the concrete, holding Jack a little bit closer.

“What? Finish that sentence, Cas,” Dean’s jaw clenches and his whole body aches. He thought Cas loved Jack more but...does Cas not love him _at all_? “He’s just a kid? He’s not broken? He’s still worth saving?” Cas’s eyes flash up to Dean and, despite the thickness in his throat, Dean barks, “Take your fucking pick, Cas. Just tell me why you love him so much more so I at least know where we stand.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas’s brow collapses in like a puppy dog and it nearly has the new stinging behind Dean’s eyes threatening to well over. He seems to fidget like he wants to stand up, but Jack is still a weight on his lap. Teetering only a little, Cas rises to his feet with Jack’s rail-thin body still in his arms. The kid shifts at the new motion, but his eyes never open as Cas gently lays him in the bed.

When his friend turns around, Dean is expecting fury or anger--but there’s only guilt and a softness that has Dean’s gaze dropping to his socks.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice is impossibly softer than his eyes, even, but dammit, Dean is mad. Well...he was mad. They were supposed to be fighting!

“What?” Dean barks, but winces at the little ending crackle.

“Will you please look at me?”

Shoulders still drawn up, Dean’s gaze rises to Cas because he’s not gonna fucking back down--

Except there’s nothing but love swimming in his best friend’s features, eyes not nearly as dull as before. And, okay, maybe Dean doesn’t feel so much like fighting anymore…

“What?” he mutters.

A light touch under his chin gently draws Dean’s whole face to look squarely at Cas’s. The pad of the other boy’s thumb slides over his jaw and down to the corner of his mouth.

“How long have you been wanting to say that?” It’s easier to examine his friend’s shirt, so that’s what Dean does as he shrugs. He curses the way his lower lip quivers as Cas’s thumb traces over it. The other boy’s voice is as light as his touch as he says, “Please tell me it hasn’t been since Jack first arrived,” Dean shrugs again, if he says a word he just knows that the lump in his throat will choke him out and it will all spill over his cheeks, “Dean?”

“I--” that’s as far as he makes it before the smallest sob slips under the wire and shivers down his body. Cas’s hand is solid on his cheek, fingers brushing over him like he’s something special, “I--I d-dunno. I’m s-sorry.”

Cas is moving into Dean’s space in an instant, wrapping his arms around the older boy and drawing him into Cas’s warm body. Placing a small kiss just behind his ear, Cas murmurs and hushes Dean who knows he’s squeezing way too hard but physically can’t let go.

“Dean,” Cas hums, voice like a song around a word that seems too ugly for such a kind voice, “You have nothing to be sorry for and I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe me.”

“I-I just,” Dean gulps down a noise that feels like it’s clawing in his chest, “You didn’t say you loved me back and--and then you rolled away and I felt so cold a--” Dean hiccups, cheeks flushed and mortified that he’s letting any of this be put into words. But it feels like a volcano bubbling inside him, unstoppable, “and you keep wanting to leave me and I can’t--I can’t be here without you--”

“Shh,” Cas says in the space between them, hand drifting down to rub little circles at his neck, “Dean, you need to breathe. Please? There we go...there we go…” The lightheadedness that had been lacing his brain starts to recede with each deep breath he takes, each slow exhale that vibrates through him. After a moment, Cas is drawing back just enough to meet his eye. Dean’s neck is hot with embarrassment.

Giving a dry laugh that hurts more than anything, Dean says, “I can’t believe I keep fucking freaking out on you like this.”

Cas smooths down the hairs at the crown of his hair, “I wish you’d tell me these things before it all builds up and you have no choice but to ‘freak out on me.’”

This time, Dean’s laugh at Cas’s air quotes is nothing but genuine.

“Gotta get better at that, I guess. I’m s--”

“Dean,” Cas arches a brow and Dean closes his mouth. “Now, what makes you think I somehow value or love Jack more than you?”

“Well,” Dean feels like a total dumbass now. With Cas holding onto him, looking at him like _that_ \--how could he ever doubt how much Cas loves him? But there’s a determined glint in Cas’s eye now, and Dean knows he’s not getting out of this without some kind of explanation. Sighing, his head slumps to his friend’s shoulder, “I guess there was one time I said I love you...and you didn’t say it back. But, I mean you were probably asleep so I’m just being stupid and reading too much--”

“Dean,” his whole body shivers when Cas drops a small kiss just at the collar of his t-shirt, “You’re not stupid. Please continue.”

“Uh, then, that morning we were gonna...y’know. You were kissing me but then Jack woke up and it’s not like I wanted to keep doing stuff once he was awake but you just--you rolled away to hug him like I didn’t even matter anymore because Jack was there.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas sighs, and the spasm Dean feels against him from the other boy’s chest is unmistakable.

“And then you keep saying you wanna leave but what if Luc kills you like he killed Sammy when _I_ tried to escape--” a coughing cry shudders through him even though it sparked out of fucking nowhere, “I can’t be alone again, Cas. Please, I’m so selfish but I can’t be alone again--”

This time, Dean’s words are cut short by warm, soft lips sealing over his own. Melting into Cas, his mind is blissfully blank for a second.

When Cas pulls away his eyes are brilliantly red-rimmed even in the low glow of the muted TV, “I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t mean for you to feel any of that. I just--I have you. I worry so much about Jack because _I’ve_ got _you_ , Dean. I worry so much about you, too, but I thought you knew that. I’m sorry I never _made sure_ you knew that. And you’re absolutely right, it was not nice of me to roll away from you like that--”

“Really, Cas, it’s okay--”

“No, it’s not,” Dean’s eyes dip as a stubbly kiss is pressed to his hot cheek, “I know how guilty you still feel about what we do--even though you don’t have to be. I forget that I’ve always had you, but you haven’t always had me. I forget that being alone for so long does weird things to someone. Especially when that person is just a kid. I love you very much Dean, even if I forgot to say it before, I always feel it,” Dean’s knees shake a little. How is it so easy for Cas to just say stuff like that? Put his whole heart on a plate and trust that Dean won’t squash it? “Now what can I do to make it up to you?” Cas asks.

Cas’s complete silence on wanting to escape is a frog Dean will eat another day. Right now, there’s only one thing that he wants.

Pushing down the embarrassment that threatens to drown out his words, Dean tightens his arms where they circle around Cas’s waist, mumbling, “Can you, uh...can we just stay like this a little longer.”

Cas noses along Dean’s jaw, nipping a kiss at the bolt of it.

“We can certainly do that if you’d like,” his friend hums him. His lips move an inch lower, just to the underside of Dean’s jaw, making him shiver, “But...Jack is asleep with headphones on right now, and if we’re quiet…”

“You don’t have to do that just ‘cause--”

“But what if I _want_ to, Dean?” Cas’s chuckle is warm as it vibrates against Dean’s chest.

Dean buries his smile in his friend’s shoulder, an honest-to-God giggle passing his lips as he says, “Well, then I ain’t gonna stop you.”

Dean moans softly into the cotton fabric as the first wet touches of tongue dance along his neck. His fingers grip the other boy’s shirt tighter as lips press and knead and hum against the sensitive skin, making him squirm and writhe in place. 

Nudging his face into the crook of Cas’s neck, he goes to work making his friend feel just as unicorn-and-rainbows on the inside as he does. Cas’s breath stutters around a soft grunt at Dean’s first lick over salty skin.

His friend takes a slight step back, resting against the table and tugging Dean along with him. It changes the angle slightly, but they recover in no time. Dean threads his fingers in that midnight hair, making a home for himself between Cas’s slightly parted legs. 

One of Dean’s hands falls slightly from his friend’s hip to the waistband of his sweatpants. He knows Cas’s silent answer to his silent question if the little push of their hips is anything to go by. But each time he asks there’s always the chance that it’ll be the one time Cas connects the dots. The time Cas realizes that the hand that had held down his throat in the Playroom is the same one asking to touch him. The time Cas finally gets it and pushes Dean away for being the slut he is--

Slender fingers trace down Dean’s arm, leaving a ripple of goosebumps in their wake. Dean has frozen up like this before, and he feels like a dumb fuck every time, but Cas is always patient. 

“It’s okay, love,” When those fingers brush past his own, Cas pulls at the sweatpants’ strings. They slouch in the front and Cas gently guides Dean’s hand to the soft skin that has the start of a downy hair trail leading up to the other boy’s belly button. Cas doesn’t guide him further, leaving the last step for Dean--as always--in case he wants to back out still, “You can if you want,” he murmurs, another encouraging kiss falling to the dip just above his collarbone.

Dean sighs as the tightness in his stomach dissolves, hand eagerly closing the distance and wrapping around the searing hardness of his friend. Cas gasps, arms tightening where they’re wrapped around Dean.

“I love you,” Dean murmurs, muffled where he tucks his face against Cas.

“I--” Cas chuckles light and sweet, the sound tapering into a whimper when Dean’s hand begins to move, “l-love you, too,” Then fingers are playing with his own waistband and a thick voice rumbles beside his ear, “Can I?”

“ _Please_ ,” Dean sighs.

His own moan is pressed into Cas’s shoulder as firm fingers gently work him, making his legs shaky and tingly. Every limb feels warm and vibrant and just so alive. When Dean dies, he wants it to be like this. In Cas’s arms, high as a fucking kite on his touch.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas whispers like it’s a secret only they can ever know, “For s-so many reasons.”

Kisses return to his neck and Dean knows that he won’t last long. He squeezes his friend closer, panting against the other boy’s neck as his own hand speeds up. Cas whines.

“Love you, too, so much. So much, Cas. Love you so much,” he rambles, wanting to stay on this vibrating string forever, right here on the cliff’s edge with Cas.

Cas snaps first. Thick, hot spend slides down Dean’s fist and his heart thrums at the squeaked cry of _‘Dean!’_ that Cas lets out. Dean erupts almost immediately, thrusting up into Cas’s grip until he’s spasming, brain floating somewhere above his body.

It’s only their harsh breaths that echo in the room for a moment. And it isn’t until Cas kisses the side of Dean’s head where it had lolled to his shoulder that Dean realizes his eyes had fluttered closed.

It’s so fucking perfect and Dean is pretty sure that if he loved Cas any more his heart would explode like a bottle rocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter and the soft scene at the end <3 See you next week!


	10. "Children of the Grave"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Children of the Grave" by Black Sabbath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have any words, guys. That f*nale has me feeling all kinds of ways.  
> Please accept this chapter a day early as my consolation gift to you.  
> Take Care (seriously--be gentle with yourselves),  
> Blue

“ _We come from the land of Ivan Snow where the midnight comes and the hot things glow--_ ” Jack mumbles, popping a chip into his mouth. He settles back against Dean’s chest, heading bopping a little to the familiar tune that’s, no doubt, playing on a loop in his head. Grape jelly is bright and sweet in Dean’s mouth as he lets his own head slump back against the cement wall in a laugh.

“Dude,” Dean snorts around a bite, “those aren’t the words.”

Though the kid’s head only tilts a little to the side in acknowledgement, Dean doesn’t need to see the weirdly Cas-like squint he knows is there.

“Yes, it is.”

Dean’s not 100% sure why the kid decided to just plunk himself down in the older boy’s lap, he’s been doing stuff like that way more ever since the whole cowboy movie incident. But it’s not like Dean’s gonna tell him to get lost. He’s not that much of a heartless dick. Who could say no to that gap-toothed grin Jack keeps flashing him every time he holds up one of his PB&J triangles for Dean to take a bite out of? You’d have to be a monster to put the kibosh on that kinda momentary happiness.

“Dean is actually right on this, Jack,” Cas interjects from where he sits against one of the chair legs, opposite them in their picnic on the floor, “It’s not ‘Ivan Snow.””

“And it’s definitely not ‘hot things glow.’”

Cas’s smile is wider and gummier than Dean’s seen in a long time and fuck if that isn’t somehow even five times better than grape jelly. His friend catches his eye, glancing between Dean and Jack with the softest eyes that leave Dean’s cheeks hot and his lips kicking up even further at the corners.

“Well,” Jack asks with a questioning lilt, holding one of the four triangles from their shared plate up for Dean. Dean takes a bite without it even feeling weird anymore, even if he maybe should, “how does it go then?”

Dean swallows down his bite and clears his throat, “It goes: _‘We come from the land of the_ ice _and_ snow _, from the_ midnight sun _where the_ hot springs flow.’ Like that. They’re talking about vikings and shit.”

“Don’t vikings play a sport?” Jack’s brow furrows even farther.

A beautiful, full-belly rumble bubbles from Cas’s lips, and Dean’s pretty sure it’s been months since he was graced with that sound.

Beaming, Dean lightly squeezes the arms he’s got resting around the kid’s waist and laughs, “No, Jack. The Minnesota Vikings are a football team.”

_I kinda forgot about football._

“Oh,” Jack simply shrugs, the little smile growing on his face as he looks between the two of them. He knows he said something funny but can’t seem to figure out what and that kind of dopey confusion only makes Dean laugh and squeeze harder. As their chuckling dies down again, a gentle, munching quiet fills the space and has Dean’s chest lighter than it’s been in a while. Dean catches Cas’s eye again. There’s a familiar spark burning behind those baby blues that has Dean’s warmth spreading down to his fingertips and toes. Maybe if they can plop the headphones on Jack and face him towards the wall with some paper to scribble on like they did last time, him and Cas can steal some time together-- “Hey! Can I teach you two a song now?”

Dean snaps out of his thoughts, more than a little grateful for Jack’s excited interruption into his thoughts before having the kid sitting on his lap got awkward.

He can’t help himself from shooting Cas a small wink and a psychic message.

_To be continued, big guy._

Cas’s eyes crinkle up before his (less mischievous) smile falls to the kid, “What’s the song?”

Pride shines in Jack’s eyes as he sits up straighter and states, “It’s the 50 states song. We learned it when I was in second grade.”

“Oh,” Cas says, “Yes, I believe we learned that song as well.”

“Huh?” Dean grunts around the last three chips he’s crammed into his mouth, “S’ates s’ng?”

“Yeah,” Jack abandons their near empty plate on the ground, spinning around in the older boy’s lap, “It’s how you remember the names of all 50 states!”

“There’s a song for that?” There’s a pinch in his stomach. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that he’s too dumb to know the song. Better late than never, though, “How’s it go?”

This is maybe the closest Jack’s ever been to Dean and the way he’s all squirmy and happy just from wanting to teach Dean some stupid song...well, maybe Dean’s okay with looking like a dumbass if Jack is still smiling at him like he’s the best big brother in the world, regardless.

_I’ll do better this time._

“ _Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas,_ ” Jack chirps, “ _California, Colorado--Connecticut, Dela--_ ”

And that’s when Dean hears it.

His mind barely registers the faint noise before jerking back on a double-take. Cas’s plastic plate drops from his hands with a _plunk!_ that Dean definitely doesn’t hear.

His gaze shoots to Cas, seeing a wide, gaping expression already staring back. Both of their eyes snap to the water-stained ceiling above.

Two sets of footsteps.

In an instant Dean is clamoring to his feet. In his haste, Jack almost drops to the floor, but Dean gets a second of clarity in time to grab him before his head hits the ground.

“Dea--?”

“ _Shhhhhhhh!_ ” Dean and Cas simultaneously hush, eyes glued above them as though they’ll gain Superman’s x-ray vision if they can only focus a little bit harder.

Jack’s equally saucer-ed eyes follow their gaze.

The _thud-shuffle-thud_ of two pairs of boots intermixing is still there, louder than an airhorn in the crushing silence. Dean has no idea what the hell is happening--he doesn’t even know if this is something good or bad. 

_Why in the fuck does Luc have another person in his house? Has this ever happened before?_

The part of Dean’s brain that isn’t just TV static and blaring sirens spins through all his memories in a second and can’t think of a single time this has happened. He wants to scream and holler and beg for help--but why would Luc bring someone into his house knowing what his big goddamn secret is? What if that’s why Luc brought them here because--

“He--!” Cas roars, but Dean’s hand is clapping over the other boy’s mouth in a second.

“Shh!” Dean hisses, and presses in next to Cas, “They could be--” Dean doesn’t want to say what he’s scared of but the wild, almost murderous look in Cas’s eye is telling him he needs to explain and explain fast, “What if they’re Luc’s friend?” Some of the fire in those panicked eyes is replaced with confusion. Dean feels his cheeks burn as he adds, “What if...they’re like Luc?” Baby blues grow even wider with realization. Dean feels tight ropes squeezing around his heart, “What if he’s bringing someone else down here? If we scream--and they hear us...it could make things _so much worse_.”

As Cas’s face slackens, Dean’s hand falls away. Parted, slightly panting lips gape at Dean.

“Would Luc really bring…?”

It’s never happened before, that’s true. But there isn’t anything Dean would put past Luc at this point. Dean’s eyes glare back up at the ceiling, praying for any tiny sign of what is going on up there.

The thuds continue. How has Dean gone this many years and never realized Luc had always been alone up there? Had Dean slept through a possible escape opportunity half a dozen times because he never noticed bootsteps?

Dean might just jump right out of his skin with the way his muscles are twitching to run or hide or do something.

“But--” 

Even as the word is squeaking from Jack’s lips, Dean sees the flit of Cas’s hand and hears the lightly muffled sound of the kid’s sentence being stopped in its tracks by Cas’s hand. Cas leans in close to Jack whispering something that either comforts or terrifies the kid enough that he steps in a little closer between the older boys, but Dean doesn’t hear what it is, he only feels the small grip of Jack’s hand on his belt loop.

It feels like hours of listening, but it can’t be that long, right? Nonetheless, Dean’s neck is hurting like a bitch from staring up at that stupid water stain, his forearms ache from all the clenching. Then suddenly the footsteps are moving away, out of whatever room Dean thinks must be directly above them. His heart pounds like a fucking cheetah, taking a half step towards the door, scooching just the tiniest bit in front of Jack and Cas, though God knows he’s not gonna be able to stop Luc or any other sicko that comes down those stairs. Hey, a dude can dream.

But the steps don’t get closer...they sound like they’re moving away.

Then they’re gone.

_What in the fuck was that?_

Dean’s eyes dart over to Cas’s ashen face, cheeks tight and temples dewy with sweat. Dean dabs at his own forehead and his hand comes back equally slick. When had that happened?

He only gets out half of a relieved sigh when one _very_ familiar set of footprints is suddenly pounding up above, louder by the second as Luc thunders towards the first door. The thick, metal lock clangs open and then the wood of the stairs is groaning and screeching. Jack’s hand scrabbles from Dean’s belt loop up, finding and squeezing his hand hard enough to dig his nails in. Dean barely feels it, not with every sense hyper-focused on the third door that is sure to fly open any moment. Judging by sounds alone, if Luc had superpowers, all three steel barriers would be ripped from their hinges like a villain closing in on the hero.

_He’s still got plenty of strength to rip other things, doesn’t he?_

Dean shudders.

When the third and final door unlocks with a screech and is thrown open so hard it slams against the opposite wall, the sight of Luc is not as terrifying as Dean was picturing.

It’s worse.

“You little _fucker_!”

Face a painful, beaming red, broad shoulders seizing as Luc pants like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating--wait, what? Beady eyes burning and wild don’t even take in the sight of the three somewhat huddled together before he’s plowing forward, shoving Dean and Cas to either side so quick Cas falls to the floor and Dean would’ve too if his hip hadn’t slammed into the table. He winces at the shock of pain that shoots up his side, but, of course, who’s got time to think about pain when Luc is suddenly seizing Jack by his throat?

“No!” Cas gasps when Jack squeaks, small hands trying to grab at the paw crushing his windpipe.

“Always so fucking loud! Do you see what you’ve done?” Luc yells, bared teeth snarling an inch from Jack’s face. The kid’s pink features are darkening, turning into an angry purple that has Dean’s stomach lurching. The whites of his wide eyes are going veiny with tears springing like a leaky pipe, “Fucking cops knocking on my door ‘cause you can’t keep your slutty little mouth shut! I’m gonna fucking kill you, bitch!”

Cas dives to Luc’s pant leg, screaming, slurring as he begs. The words are cottony, and all mean the same thing in Dean’s ears. By the white bugle of Luc’s knuckles and the way once-bright eyes are rolling back into Jack’s skull, the hyperdrive part of Dean’s brain figures he’s got less than a minute to get Luc to let go before those grey eyes never open again.

With the only plan in his head nothing more than a string of words like ‘DISTRACT’ and ‘DEAD JACK,’ Dean lunges right into the sliver of space between Luc and the kid. His brain further estimates this will go one of two ways. Either it works and he can get Luc’s attention off the kid long enough for oxygen to scurry up to Jack’s brain again, or Luc pushes Dean so hard he bashes his head into the concrete and then _his_ eyes never open again. At this point though, he doesn’t really give a fuck if Luc picks door number two.

And maybe God isn’t 100% an asshole...because it kinda works.

“Wha--” Luc grunts when Dean’s hand is suddenly palming him, as the boy pulls out every trick his adrenaline-soaked mind can remember. Even in the rush, he feels Luc’s cock twitch at the attention, and Dean’s just gotten the man’s button and fly undone when giant hands are suddenly on his shoulders. But that’s good, right? That means that, even if the slap of Jack’s body crumpling to the floor didn’t register, at least Luc’s hands aren’t squeezing the literal life out of the little kid. Dean doesn’t get a chance to feel happy about that because his own body is suddenly being shoved backwards, spine slamming into the plastic table beside the bed, “Get off me, fuckhole!” 

Vision is dancing with spots, Dean slumps to the cool floor. His blurry eyes find Jack’s curled up form, something like joy exploding in his chest when the kid twists and hoarsely moans.

_Not dead!_

When his sight focuses in again, his eyes snap up to Luc, fully expecting the man to be barreling after either him or Jack--but he’s still standing in place. Cas is holding his waist from behind, swiftly moving hands to pick up right where Dean had left off. He could just about kiss his friend.

The secondary distraction doesn’t look like it’s gonna hold much longer, because even though Luc’s tight features are slackening, the tick in his jaw hasn’t gone yet and he’s starting to squirm against the younger boy. Dean is clamoring to his feet, pushing every ounce of pain and dizziness as far from the forefront of his mind as possible.

_Gotta help Cas._

Dean’s not even working off an idea, let alone an actual plan for how to help his friend, though. Instead he does the first thing that comes to mind as soon as he sees Luc’s mouth starting to open in protest. Dean plasters himself to the man’s front, crashing their lips together so fast he thinks he actually hears Luc squeak in surprise. Fucking _squeak_.

His hands are everywhere in an instant, sliding all up and down Luc’s sides and arms--anything he can think of to get Luc’s head in a different game. Cas’s knuckles are brushing just above his own junk with each stroke as Dean crowds in impossibly closer to Luc. The moment thin lips start to move against his, and thick hands clutch his waist, Dean’s stomach unknots with a sliver of hope. Dean never thought in a million years that Luc’s tongue trying to cram itself into his mouth would be a good sign--but low and behold.

Dean doesn’t dare let himself even try to get in a gulp of air until he has Luc’s shirt unbuttoned and his fingers plucking at the man’s hairy nipples. When the asshole groans at the feeling, and the rhythm of Cas’s hand speeds up, Dean knows they’ve got him. He sure as fuck won’t be in a good mood after this. He may even feel like landing a few more punches before the night is through, but if they can get him off first, then there’s at least a solid chance he won’t get angry enough to snap Jack’s neck.

“See, baby--” Dean murmurs between the needling bites to his lips, “Gonna make--” Dean grunts when a hard slap lands on his ass, causing a spike of soreness from a few switch cuts that haven’t quite healed yet, “feel good.”

“Fuck,” Luc moans, and Dean just now notices the lingering sourness of whatever Luc ate for lunch. Gripping fingers get a hold of Dean’s hair, starting to tug his head down, “On your knees, baby doll. Want those Victoria’s Secret lips on me _right now_.”

Dean slips to the floor without a second thought, because Luc’s voice isn’t one-tenth the raging screech it was before. Is it possible Dean actually had an idea that fucking worked for once?

Cas’s hands only slip away once Luc has shoved himself between Dean’s lips. Dean’s not sure where his friend’s hands go, and his stomach feels weirdly hollow since Cas obviously left as soon as he saw Dean was taking over this part. It’s weird, and Dean feels guilty for thinking it as soon as the thought pops into his head.

Something warm sinks into that hollow place, though, when he catches sight of Cas’s hands moving under Luc’s shirt above him. It’s selfish and there’s something fucked in Dean’s head because he actually feels better with Cas right there.

_He didn’t leave me._

Maybe God is just deciding to cut them some slack today because, for whatever reason, Luc’s face-fucking doesn’t last as long as usual before he’s spilling bitterly down Dean’s spasming throat. And glory be because Luc actually looks pretty pleased with himself and not half as pissed as he’d been when he came downstairs.

Dean swipes his hand over his mouth and eyes, not really succeeding at wiping anything off, more of just smearing all the tears and snot and spit around. His skin prickles.

Grabbing at the hem of his t-shirt, Dean mops up the rest of that shit--Luc doesn’t like when he looks like a sloppy whore either.

Managing to stand on wobbly legs, Dean pushes up to his feet as Luc yanks his hair upwards. He bites at Dean’s neck, humming and chuckling when Dean squirms each time sharp teeth pinch his skin. It’s nothing like how Cas does it. 

Dean feels a little better, when he catches a glimpse of tufty, dark hair over Luc’s shoulder. It also serves to snap Dean back into his thoughts.

“See, baby?” He keeps his voice low, hoping that maybe Luc will mistake his winces for sighs or his pained grunts for happy ones, “It’s alright. Nothing’s gonna change.”

“Yeah?” There’s a weird lilt to Luc’s hum like-- _sweet Jesus, is he actually listening to me?_ Wracking his brain, Dean can’t think of one goddamn time Luc wanted to hear what came out of his mouth if it wasn’t praise for Luc’s cock.

“Y-Yeah--” Dean stutters, licking his lips. Maybe...maybe Luc was actually freaked out by the cops showing up. Was Luc...scared?

Looks like there’s another thing Dean hadn’t realized was on the short list of Luc’s moods he’d never seen before. A little thrill flickers in his stomach but is quickly snuffed out when a much more horrifying thought tears into existence in his brain. He gulps as a new plan he hadn’t dared to think about in years starts to form in his mind, “Nothing’s gotta change.”

“Hmph,” Luc grunts like he was hoping for something a little better than that.

“We could--Mexico!” Dean suddenly shouts, “W-We could run away!”

Luc’s body stiffens and for a split-second Dean’s pretty sure he just screwed things up with his dumbass thoughts--like always. But then Luc is practically melting against him, groaning in delight.

“Guess there aren’t just rocks in that pretty li’l melon of yours, huh?” Luc fucking beams, drawing back to fix his gaze on Dean. The anger that was there is all but gone now...but a different kind of heat takes its place: hunger. Luc’s grin turns to a smirk as he roughly tilts Dean’s chin up, crushing their lips together again in a kiss that quickly devolves into all teeth, “You’d look so pretty sprawled out, naked on a beach, wouldn’t you, cupcake?”

Dean’s throat clicks. He’d never get to see the beach, would he? No matter where they go, no matter what corner of the globe Luc drags them to, Dean will never see the sun. They have basements in Mexico, too.

All Dean can manage around the growing swell in his raw throat is a quiet, “Mhm,” that he hopes Luc doesn’t pay much attention to. He doesn’t.

“I like the sound of that, Dean. A little sunshine, a little R&R--I hear the girls down there have hair down to their asses and go around topless most of the day,” Dean grits his teeth when he feels Luc’s cock give an interested twitch against his stomach, “Yeah. Take my little Rockettes down to the Yucatan…” Luc chuckles and nibbles Dean’s earlobe, “Sounds like something worth _celebrating_. Whadya say, sugar? Why don’t we take this back to my place…?”

Dean’s chest spasms and his heart picks up pace again--but that’s certainly nothing new. His eyes don’t leave the ground, though, as Luc hefts Dean up into his arms. He doesn’t want to look at Cas right now. Especially when he’s probably still got Luc’s spend somewhere on his face. His skin itches, he wants to scratch down to the bone.

Luc bites at his neck all the way to the Playroom.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

When the grey recedes, Dean is lying in their bed. His eyes are focused on a crack with hair-thin fractures twisting out from it, weirdly it’s the thought that this crack is what Cas used to stare at all day long that snaps Dean’s soul back into his body.

_I’m back now._

Light, familiar hands are gently touching his ass, aided with a warm wet cloth. Dean sinks into the bed a little more, letting his muscles loosen.

_It’s my Cas._

Cas must feel the change because a warm hum greets his ears, and he feels a kiss pressed to his temple.

“Hello, Dean.”

The slosh of water is somewhat loud and unpleasant in the otherwise quiet of the room. He winces as Cas’s gentle touch skims his throbbing hole, the rag like sandpaper no matter how gentle his friend is. Cas grunts in sympathy but carries on—it’s not like there’s a less painful way about this. Dean tries to focus on Cas’s other hand, his thumb drawing soothing circles over Dean’s upper thigh. It’s nice.

Dean damn near jumps out of his skin when he feels a snort against his collarbone. How the hell had he not noticed the human teddy bear curled against his chest. Jack is huddled in too close to get a clear look at, nothing but a mop of dark blonde nestled almost directly under Dean’s chin. The kid’s chest falls in an even pattern with little snores that are fucking adorable and remind Dean of a puppy.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, the rag now moving along the back of Dean’s thigh, “I said he could lay by you, he just—” Cas huffs, but his hands remain tender so Dean’s pretty sure his friend’s anger isn’t directed at him. In fact, he’s pretty sure he knows the only person under this roof who Cas _is_ mad at, “How would you phrase it? I think Luc ‘scared the shit out of him.’”

Dean smacks his lips, trying to swallow back the musky taste on his tongue. His limbs are heavy, like he’s been laying down here (or somewhere) for a while. It’s fucking heavenly when his neck cracks as he looks over his shoulder at his friend. Beautiful baby blues are red-rimmed, but it looks like Cas stopped crying some time ago.

“That’s ‘kay,” And it is. Luc kinda scared the shit out of everybody tonight. The image of Luc lifting the little kid up by his neck has Dean flinching and he must still be a little light-headed from whatever Luc had done...because, for a second, it’s Sammy that Luc is choking out. Dean’s eyes sting but he bites his lip and pushes the thought away. Luc just dominated his _everything_ for the last however-many-hours, hell if he’s gonna let the old fuck take up anymore brain space for the rest of the night, “H-How’s he doing anyway?” He asks, cringing at his hoarse voice.

“Do you want some water?”

Refocusing his gaze, Dean gives Cas his best half-smile and nods.

Shimmying in place, Dean lifts up to his elbow, resting up on his hip and waiting for Cas to come back with his water and, hopefully, to join their little dog pile.

By his side again, Cas slips a mug into Dean’s hands, absently carding hands through his hair.

“Better,” his friend sighs, “I think he’s going to have a sore throat for a while, though. But...he’s still alive.”

“Good,” Deans says after a swallow that stings a little before the cool water starts to soothe him, “That’s good, buddy.”

He twists to his side to set the mug on the little plastic table—but the air punches out of his lungs.

His spine twinges at the memory of Luc shoving him back into the little piece of furniture, knocking it over but who the fuck cares about that because…the Walkman. Cas must’ve righted the table when Dean was with Luc since it’s standing up again.

Its surface is littered with shattered metal and plastic pieces.

The stinging in Dean’s eyes turns to burning, and suddenly his chest is spasming around a breath he can’t quite draw in.

_It’s broken. Fucking busted. No way to fix it. And Luc sure as shit won’t be waltzing down here with another one anytime soon…._

“Dean?”

 _No more Ozzy. No more Paul Rodgers. No more_ Midnight Ride _or_ Immigrant Song.

“Dean?” Soft hands are cupping Dean’s face, but he can’t tear his eyes off the corpse of one of his best friends of five years.

_No more Robert._

“Dean, you need to take a deep breath.”

Dean’s eyes are blurry when they snap up to Cas’s wide ones, though he’s not sure if it’s from tears or lack of oxygen. Maybe it’s both.

“I-I-It’s br—“ Dean stutters, hardly getting the syllables out before a fucking wail rips out of his chest like a hurricane he tried to contain in a pup tent.

“Oh, Dean.” Cas murmurs and even through the waterworks bursting out of his own eyes, the lone tears making wet trails down his friend’s cheeks are unmistakable. Dean’s whole body aches, all the way down to his bones. His heartbeat is thumping in his temples, every bite mark flaring in pain just to taunt him. His ass hurts and he’s too tired to grit his teeth anymore.

He’s fucking exhausted, actually.

Maybe that’s why he crumples like a dirty shirt into Cas’s chest. Familiar arms catch him, and Cas’s shaky breath and soft nose bury in his hair.

“It’s br-broke…” Dean doesn’t know what he keeps saying it. Cas can see it’s fucking broken, he’s got eyes. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the slurred sound of Dean’s words from drooling past his lips, “Broke...h-he broke it, C-Cas…”

Lips press against his scalp, murmuring, “I know, Dean. I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.”

Something’s different tonight. Dean can feel it in every atom. Usually, after some soothing words and Cas’s body al warm and nice against his--Dean can get a grip. He can usually tighten the ropes and wrestle whatever shit he’s feeling down into the pit of his stomach where he can face it later in his nightmares—but it just won’t stop tonight. He’s surprised Jack can even sleep through all his bawling.

His chest is still stretched so tight, his limbs still a shaky heap when Cas draws back slightly to kiss each of his cheeks.

“Scooch over, love. I think you should be in the middle tonight,” Cas says gently.

It’s a hard minute while Cas gets up from where he’d taken a seat on the bed to turn off the lights, but then his friend is wrapping around him like an octopus. Dean can almost feel the other boy trying to absorb all his pain like a bandage protecting a fresh wound. Dean does kinda feel like a fresh wound, but one that’s been cut over layers of old, lumpy scar tissue.

His hand is sweaty where it’s tangled with Cas’s, and he’s got their joined knuckles pressed to his lips and, Christ, he feels like a needy little bitch for slobbering all over Cas like this…but the logical part of his brain tells him that if their places were switched he wouldn’t give two shakes of a rat’s ass so long as it made Cas feel better. So, he lets himself have this. And if the way Cas is holding him tight and trying to soothe him with kisses to the nape of his neck is anything to go by, maybe Cas doesn’t give two shakes either.

Ice shoots down his spine like a thunderbolt when he remembers something. His whole face feels hot and numb at the same time.

“C-Cas, the police…” he hates the scratchy, pathetic sound of his own voice, “The police...they were here—I covered Jack’s mouth…”

_I’m the reason we’re still here. I was too much of a scared, little, dumbfuck and we missed our chance to escape because of me._

If it’s possible, Dean cries even harder.

“Shhh,” Cas whispers, drawing him in even tighter. Dean doesn’t miss the small crack in Cas’s voice, “You didn’t know. You didn’t know,” a kiss Dean doesn’t deserve is pressed behind his ear, “You _couldn’t_ have known. None of us could.”

Dean whines somewhere in the back of his throat and it’s like he’s five years old again.

“What are we gonna do, Cas?” Dean chokes, “If the cops close in...and Luc thinks we’re not worth getting arrested for….”

There’s a harsh breath that whooshes out against his shoulder and Cas’s muscles freeze, “...he’ll kill us and run.”

Dean gulps.

He can practically hear the gears whirring, but Cas isn’t saying anything, and his muscles haven’t loosened one iota. Dean loves this boy so much--because, in this instant, he knows exactly what Cas is thinking but won’t say so he doesn’t make Dean cry again. Words he knows Cas is itching to push out into the open, words crowded up behind his friend’s teeth—they’re the words flashing like a warning sign in Dean’s head, too.

Dean shifts in the other boy’s hold--mentally flipping off the pain--until he’s almost on his back. Cas rises up on an elbow, confusion furrowing his cute brow as he meets Dean’s eyes. Dean draws his hand away from Cas’s, pushing a loose strand off his friend’s forehead and kissing the corner of slightly chapped lips.

Cas won’t say it, but he’s absolutely right.

Dean sighs, “We need to escape, dude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for reading <3


	11. "Achilles Last Stand"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Achilles Last Stand" by Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Y yo a ti, Cas."

**_Sammy,_ **

**_Luc wasn’t shitting us about Mexico. It’s all he talks about every night when he comes down. It’s always “Mexico” this and “pretty señoritas” that. For a guy who likes dicking little boys, he sure gets gross talking about boobs a lot. Who the fuck knows what that’s about... Anyway, I think he’s actually gonna fucking follow through and take us down south. That or_ **

Dean bites the nub of the pen.

_Either that, or he’s gonna kill us and dart off to Mexico, tossing our bodies in a ditch somewhere._

He decides Sammy doesn’t need to hear that part, and Dean’s not too thrilled about seeing his biggest fucking fear scrawled out in black and white.

**_~~That or~~ _ ** **_I have no clue when he’s planning on trying to pull this off. And--believe me--we’ve been on red alert like it’s nobody’s business. We’ve been_ ** **super _aware of every little sound that comes from upstairs now. Not one peep other than Luc’s usual annoying-as-hell boots._**

Dean doesn’t dare write what him and Cas talk about doing if the police ever do come back. Let alone all the half-cocked ideas of escape that they throw around in the pitch black with Jack snuggling in his sleep beside them. If Luc ever got it in his head to read this thing…

**_The worst part is, not only do we not know what the fuck he’s really planning, it feels like any day he’ll barrel on down here ready to snatch us up and do whatever it is he’s planning on doing. It’s nerve-wracking as hell, man._ **

**_The dude’s practically giddy all the time, and it’s freaking me the fuck out. Cas isn’t doing much better._ **

Dean sits back in his chair a little, trying to make his glance towards Cas subtle. But blue eyes catch his from where his friend is resting in what’s probably a lukewarm bath at this point. Wet, raven strands curl around Cas’s ears. One even makes a swirl on his forehead like Superman. It makes Dean's lips kick up a little at the corners. Cas gives a faint smile back. He’s still a little paler than normal but the light flush that blooms on the other boy’s cheeks makes Dean kinda feel like the luckiest guy on the face of the Earth.

His eyes fall to the bandages circling Cas’s wrists, making a mental note to change them once he’s out of the tub since they could probably use it now. There’s a painful twinge in his chest.

Uncaring of Jack sitting on the bed watching Bambi, Dean is up out of his chair and crossing over to the bathtub. Like a switch that gets flipped from time to time—and by the weirdest shit, too—it’s suddenly the most important thing that he’s with Cas. Talking to him, touching him. Jack has seen them kiss before, though they don’t really do it that much when the kid’s awake. And Dean would rather die than subject the little guy to a show of _all_ the other stuff him and Cas get up to, so as soon as he’s kneeling by the ceramic side in front of his friend’s confused face, Dean just gently leans in and presses a kiss to Cas’s chapped lips. When he pulls away with a sad smile and his fingers running along the dark stubble of his friend’s jaw, a little thrill goes through him at the new spark of brightness in the other boy’s eyes. Before he can even think about returning to the table, Cas is pulling them back together, giving a pleased grunt as their lips slide back into place.

Dean doesn’t finish the letter. He’s not gonna give up a second of the opportunity to comb his fingers through Cas’s wet hair for the world. Who knows how much time they’ve got left, anyway?

**||||||||||||||||||||**

  
  


When the third door slams open, Dean has barely stood up from the toilet, the _ziiiipp_ of his fly the last noise before Luc’s wide frame is bursting through the doorway. There’s absolute joy in his eyes, lips thinned-out in a beaming smile that has no business on the man’s face after everything he’s done. Dean’s whole body churns and he wonders if maybe he got off the toilet too early. 

He’s not sure--he never can be--but he’s pretty certain it’s only been a handful of days since the police were here. Two weeks at most since, if he wasn’t too busy focusing on not shitting his pants, Dean could probably count out on exactly how many nights it’s been. But that look on Luc’s broad face--whatever’s happening, it’s happening _right now_.

_I’m gonna die today, huh?_

Maybe it’s just the black spots momentarily peppering his vision, but it takes Dean a beat to see what Luc is carrying as he puts out a hand to steady himself against the counter.

_Garbage bags?_ Dean’s stomach lurches and all his noodles might make a reappearance, _Is that how Luc is gonna carry our bodies outta here? Like he’s taking out the trash?_

“It’s time!” Luc laughs like a kid on fucking Christmas morning. Dean’s eyes flash to Cas and he prays that this morning before breakfast wasn’t the last time he got to kiss his best friend. His gaze snaps back to Luc, however, when the man gives a giggly cackle...and hands them a bag each? “Alright, Huey...Dewey...Louie, there we go. Time to pack your shit up, boys! Road trip!”

A wash of relief floods Dean’s system, but it doesn’t last long. A fresh batch of worries and panic and... _excitement_ are making Dean shaky. His limbs run hot and cold. He blinks.

_That means...we’re going outside._

“H-Huh?” he oh-so-intelligently asks.

Luc rolls his eyes and smiles like he’s trying to teach a puppy how to solve a math problem, “C’mon, cupcake. You gotta get with the program! Start putting all your t-shirts and crap in the bag so we can get on the road. I’ve flushed enough money down the toilet on you, not really in the mood to stop at the Dollar Store on the way just because our little angel here forgot his toothbrush,” Luc chuckles, already swiping the boxes of food off the counter and into his own garbage bag. When Dean, Cas, and Jack are still frozen and blankly staring ahead Luc claps his hands. There’s a little grit in his voice as he barks, “Chop, chop, people!”

It cracks through Dean like a wave and he’s off like a shot, all three of them scattering in different directions to gather their things. Dean keeps trying to meet Cas’s eye because _what’s the fucking plan now?_ They need to figure out what the hell they’re gonna do and they need to figure it out _now_.

Dean’s already thrown his ball of clothing into his bag and is slipping his small pile of notebooks in beside them when Luc’s sudden gasp makes his bones shake.

“Shit!” Luc laughs, “Be right back, pals!”

And the fucker is gone like the wind and Dean kind of wants to pass out because _Jesus Christ_ this is happening right now.

The second their steel door slams behind Luc and the bolt clicks in place, Dean is up on shaky legs.  
“What’s happening?” Jack murmurs, clutching the dark plastic sack to his chest.

Cas is standing between them both in an instant, a hand steadying Dean’s elbow (he didn’t even realize he was wobbling), and an arm around Jack’s shoulder. Smushing his cheek against Cas’s ribs, the kid huddles in closer.

“I dunno, kid…” Dean’s eyes flash back to the door which is still solidly closed. They might have a few seconds before Luc flies back in.

_Enough time to say goodbye._

“Cas…” Dean’s throat clicks around the words that are cutting off his air supply. Everything is burning and raw like his skin is being peeled off. He needs to say it, this is it, this is his last chance. He’s said it a million times! Why won’t his goddamn tongue work? What if--what if he doesn’t say it and Cas dies thinking Dean didn’t love him? What if Dean dies and Cas goes the rest of his life thinking--

A warm palm cradles Dean’s jaw, drawing his gaze to watery blue eyes, “I know, Dean. I love you, too.”

His friend presses a rushed kiss to Dean’s quivering bottom lip and it’s over so quick Dean almost misses it when he blinks.

_Well, fuck that._

Dean’s bag slaps when it hits the ground, both of his hands flying up to feel Cas’s little bit of stubble, up to feel the line of his jaw that Dean’s gotten the chance to see sharpen over the years. If this is all they get then Dean’s going to kiss that boy like he means it. And _God_ , does he mean it.

Cas is so warm this close up, so warm and so soft…

Then it really _is_ over, and Dean already misses the heat of Cas’s breath on his cheek. His eyes blink open, and he takes it all in. Dark eyelashes, little forehead crease that furrows when Cas is concentrating, that light flush creeping up Cas’s neck that Dean would fucking die for.

_Eat your heart out--one last time._

Then footsteps are thundering overhead again.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Each step that creaks under the weight of Dean’s foot travels up his spine, nesting in his brain like a bird. For the rest of his life, he won’t forget that sound--that’s for goddamn certain.

Knees shaking the closer they get to the landing, Dean nearly doubles over a few times since the duct tape trapping his arms behind his back makes balancing a bitch and a half. Luc is leading the way so he doesn’t notice and thank God for that, Dean’s not sure he can take much more stimulation--especially a slap upside the head. Thank God for Cas, too, who’s trailing behind him and gently headbutts his back, trying to help steady him as much as possible even with his own hands taped behind his back.

As many times as Dean had dreamt of this moment, every time he used to catch a glimpse of this staircase behind the second door and picture walking right on out of the lion’s den—it was way different than this. For starters, he had full use of his hands and not this tying-him-up-like-a-zoo-animal crap. And he also wouldn’t have another strip of the silver tape and it’s chemical-y smell covering his mouth. Not to mention that, when he really let himself picture this, it was always someone in uniform leading the way, not Luc. Yeah, in his wildest fantasies, Luc was a bloody heap at the bottom landing while Dean climbed the Stairway to Heaven.

This isn’t that.

Maybe that’s why Dean’s brain feels kinda blank, like a toaster that short circuits and becomes as good as useless. Except he’s not gonna be useless—he can’t be useless. Not when he’s got those two dorks that own his heart counting on him. They deserve so much better than they ever got, and if Dean can give them that better, then maybe he’s worth a little more than Luc gives him credit for. Cas seems to think so. That’s gotta count for something, right? 

Luc opens the top door like he didn’t just open a portal to Mars. Acid burns at the back and of Dean’s throat and he might fucking throw up a week’s worth of Raman because he’s not in the basement and he’s out of that damp-ass air that made him feel like he was only ever choking down oxygen—

“Keep it moving, Dean-o.”

_When did I stop?_

Dean blinks. They’re in a kitchen. Is that where the stairs always led up to? An ordinary fucking kitchen with old-lady wallpaper he can barely see with the lights off like this? All this time, the motherfucker who raped him six ways to Sunday every day of his life...he was this _ordinary_?

Dean’s knees shake like he’s either gonna collapse or explode. Or maybe just burst into tears. All feel like pretty solid possibilities at this point. Somewhere in the back of his on-fire brain, Dean knows Luc is gonna start getting pissed because he’s still standing there and staring, but he just can’t move. His legs are fucking jelly and bolted down iron at the same time—

“Ehn?” Even through the tape, Dean can still hear the word Cas says every day in the perfect warm way of his. _Dean?_

Dean can’t see more than a foot or so in front of him clearly, everything else dim in the moonlight shining in from the windows by a kitchen table. But his friend’s eyes are somehow even brighter in the bluish light when they meet his. There’s so much there that Dean can’t even begin unpacking all the thoughts he knows are rioting behind baby blues. He wants to kiss and hug those worries away, but since these are literally the two things he can’t do right now, the least he can do is not add to those worries.

_I’m alright._ He nods to Cas, _We’re gonna be fine._

When he turns back, Luc has that little amused smile tugging at his lips. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand up.

“Are you two done with your eye-fucking, hmm?” Luc leers, “‘Cause it’s time to get this show on the road.”

It isn’t too much of a challenge to keep his eyes trained on Luc’s heels as he follows the man through a few turns in the house. It honestly isn’t too different from the parts he remembers about being in the Playroom. Follow Luc’s lead, take it one step at a time, and try with every atom in his being to not think about the details. That’s how he’s made it this far, and that’s how he’ll make it through tonight.

He only looks up when Luc suddenly stoops, and Dean nearly rams into him. With a _clank_ of three deadbolts, Luc opens a door and Dean squeezes his eyes against the sudden, stabbing brightness. He recognizes the smell of this new room before the burning eases enough for him to open his eyes. Motor oil, dead leaves, rubber—a garage.

When he finally peels his eyelids apart, Luc is giving him a solid shove (that he just barely catches his balance from) towards the large, black, windowless van parked before them. Dean almost laughs. It’s the same kinda van all that Stranger Danger bullshit ever talked about. 

_Is this a fucking joke?_

“Sweet ride, huh?” Luc chuckles, rounding Dean to slide the side door open. He tosses the three stacked garbage bags of all the shit they own on this Earth to the corner like it’s all as worthless as the actual bags of trash Dean spots out of the corner of his eye. 

Then Luc’s man paws are all over him, grabbing his shoulders and tossing Dean into the van on his stomach. Hitting the cold, rubberized floor of the van has a flare of pain rippling across his chest, and he groans, “Mm, no, you next,” Luc grabs Jack’s sleeve and hauls him next, the kid crashing into Dean’s side with a whimper, “Don’t want you two getting any shitty ideas once we get going.”

Then Cas is shoved in last, sandwiching Jack between the older boys. Dean’s heart sinks a little and he’s not even sure why. It’s not like he even had a plan...but his stomach turns being this far away from Cas and not able to reach out.

“Oh, we’ll have a pee bucket break at some point. I suggest you hold it ‘til then unless you wanna sit around in pissed pants.”

He doesn’t get more than a second for panic to flare white hot under his skin before the van door is slamming shut beside them. With their heads toward the front dashboard, Dean can lift his neck up enough to watch Luc hop into the driver’s seat like he’s actually going on some kinda road trip. Maybe, in his mind, that’s exactly what this is. 

After only a few seconds, Dean’s neck cramps up and his head drops back down to grooved rubber. His eyes meet Jack’s, huge and scared even in the darkness. He wants to say something, but even if his lips weren’t sealed with the tacky-ass adhesive, he has no clue what that would be. Instead, he presses his forehead to Jack’s, giving a soft grunt. _We’re gonna be okay, kid._

Music floods the whole vehicle, shoving its way into every nook and cranny.

“Ahh, fuck yeah,” Luc laughs, cranking the volume, “This is a classic! _Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name...”_ Luc bellows along, shifting the van into gear and hitting a garage door opener hooked on the visor, “ _But what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game…_ ” the engine rumbles to life and they’re off, “ _Tell me, baby, what’s my name?_ ”

**||||||||||||||||||||**

The night sky is pitch black through what Dean can see of the windshield. A smooth, dark blanket that’s pricked with white stars, and Dean starts crying the minute he sees it. 

The sky. 

He’s looking at the fucking sky. Dean doesn’t even give enough of a shit to feel ashamed of the mini trails streaming down his cheeks because, well, _sky_. He jerks against his bindings; he wants to hold his hand up. He wants to see the silhouette of his fingers against the moonlight, prove to his eyes that yeah, he’s a human being who still exists in the same goddamn universe as all the other human beings he can’t remember the faces of.

He’s not sure how long he stares but the pain in his neck finally wins out and steals his breath away for a hot second. The pain snaps his thoughts back into order and he tries to steer his brain back on track.

He can do his stargazing later when he’s got Cas and Jack as far away from Luc as he can possibly fucking manage. Or maybe he’ll look down on the stars with Sam. That’d be nice, too. No matter how things shake out, he’s got one thing he needs to be using every drop of energy for right now: thinking.

This is the only time in— _Jesus_ —about five years that Luc has ever changed the setting. There’s gotta be some way Dean can use that. Sure, Luc isn’t a dumbass and has them gagged, bound, and on the floor of an empty-ass van and a rear-view mirror he can look in anytime he damn-well pleases... _fuck_. They’re screwed, aren’t they?

Flopping his face to the side, where traces of light from the world outside flash and slide over Jack’s skin. There are tear tracks that shine in the light, too. His eyes are scrunched closed, his brow furrowed. A glance towards the rearview mirror shows Luc jerking his head along to whatever song is vibrating throughout the metal frame of the van like they’re in the belly of some giant monster.

Raising his head as much as he can, Dean peers over top of the kid, until dark hair and pale skin finally have Dean’s belly calming down a little. The baby blues he can barely meet are shiny and wild and something already tight in Dean’s chest seizes so hard he sputters a cough into his duct tape. For them. He’s doing this for them, his family. 

Dean’s older now, he’s learned. He’s gonna be smart this time, not make a dumbass move like what got Sa—like his first escape attempt. He’d done it all wrong, he knows that now. He was just a stupid little kid without a plan and too much confidence.

_I was thirteen and scared shitless—it wasn’t confidence behind the wheel that day._

Dean crams that thought right back into its shadowy corner.

He won’t make the same mistakes twice, not when Cas and Jack’s lives are on the line.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

  
  


For the first time that Dean can remember, he’s actually feeling time...and it’s _so_ fucking weird.

The sun has risen now, and every muscle in his body aches. His bound arms started getting sore and tingly long ago, and he’s pretty sure his chest and stomach are going to be black and blue because, apparently, Luc wouldn’t know smooth driving if it bit him in the ass. But that’s just pain. That’s just weakness leaving the body. What hurts like a mother is that not one tiny piece of a plan has formed in Dean’s brain, and even through the duct tape, Jack’s small groans are making Dean feel like shit. He’s supposed to be getting them out of this, but it’s taking all his effort not to throw up all over this weird, rubbery floor as this speeding death trap rumbles beneath them.

For maybe the hundredth time Dean flops his head back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of something—anything that could help. A screwdriver that rolled under the driver’s seat, a piece of metal from whatever used to be kept in this truck before Luc got his mitts on it—it just needs to be able to cut through duct tape. But a box-cutter hasn’t magically transported itself into his line of sight, so nothing’s changed. The shithead cleaned the whole back compartment out and there’s not a single thing Dean has to work with. Fucking zip.

_Maybe Luc is gonna drive us out to the woods somewhere. Make us dig our own graves before shooting us between the eyes like he killed Sammy. He could drop our bodies wherever he wanted and then hightail it to Mexico to be with his “señoritas.”_

The thought of Cas’s bright blue eyes going all milky like a dead fish has Dean squeezing his eyes shut to keep the spasms in his stomach from heaving up whatever’s in there, if for no other reason than, well, with the duct tape he’d just have to swallow it all back down anyway.

“Nnnh,” Jack whimpers and Dean cracks an eye open.

The kid’s face is scrunched up and clammy, a bead of sweat falling from his forehead to the floor below. For a second Dean’s sure Jack’s about to lose his lunch, too, but then he notices the kid squirming. He’s rolled a little on his side and desperately trying to squeeze his thighs together. He whimpers again.

_The poor kid’s trying not to piss his pants._

But before Dean can grunt or nudge the kid to get his attention, Jack flips his head to the other side.

In the shuffle, Dean catches Cas’s eye, and momentary warmth floods his chest. They may just be shoulders’ width apart, but not being able to see his friend with Jack between them is making Dean’s skin prickle. The sight of stormy eyes and the stubbled cheeks has his nausea settling a little. When Cas’s face is suddenly craning over Jack, though just barely enough to see, Dean realizes that he isn’t imagining that storminess—Cas’s whole face looks wild.

The boy is animatedly moving his head and keeps darting his eyes down to Jack. Dean has no fucking clue what Cas is trying to say. He scrunches his face, shrugging his shoulders as much as the tape binding will let him. Cas rolls his eyes with a frustrated growl Dean can only hear above the radio because of the proximity. His friend makes eyes down at Jack’s little body again—Dean still doesn’t get it. 

_What the hell is he trying to say? Jack has to pee, but what does that have to do with anything?_ Yeah, it fucking sucks that the kid’s bladder will probably give out long before they get wherever they’re going ( _hopefully not the woods_ ), or pee bucket break, but why is Cas freaking out?

With another frustrated huff, his friend’s head falls back down to the floor, and it’s only over the curve of Jack’s twitching back that he can tell Cas is shifting in place.

There’s the rustle of clothing—what?—and Jack’s whimpers keen like he’s trying to speak. Dean raises his head as much as his aching neck will go, but he can only see the back of Cas’s head. Did he turn his back to the kid? Why?

The fabric on Jack’s hipbone starts to move and is a human question mark now.

Cas’s shoulder flexes and the fabric moves again...wait, is he inching Jack’s sweatpants down?

_What the fuck?_

Dean’s heart picks up pace. Whatever it is, Cas is trying to do _something_. A spiky feeling prickles in Dean’s stomach, what could Cas possibly be doing trying to pull the kid’s pants down—?

Then Jack's whole body stops shaking and goes boneless, the fingers that had been twitching behind his back fall limp. A muffled grunt punches out of the kid…

Then the sound of a steady stream of liquid pattering down to the van floor reaches Dean’s ears. He winces.

_Fuck, Cas is gonna have to wallow with piss soaking the back of his shirt—but then why did he pull Jack’s pants down?_

Dean’s nose scrunches a little at the smell.

Why the fuck would Cas want to get piss on him—?

_He’s getting the duct tape wet, you dumbass._

Dean’s whole body jolts straight as adrenaline cracks down his spine like lightning. That weird, dorky little bastard has a _fucking plan_!

As soon as the muffled stream fades to a tiny trickle, Dean sees the roll of Cas shifting around again. Shifting, shifting, and he’s making a weird, squeaky sound that Dean thanks his lucky stars the music is loud enough to cover with how slow Cas is going…

His friend’s arms suddenly freeze; the squeaking stops. Dean would give his right leg to be able to see what the hell is going on. Did it work? Dean’s shaking a little, and he’s not sure when that started, but hell if that’s not pretty low on his list of priorities right now.

Cas twists, ruffled hair giving way to light skin, until he must be facing Jack. Dean sees a flash of Cas’s hands and he might just pass out. 

_It fucking_ worked _._

Jack slowly twists in place, too. Dean glances toward Luc. Meaty hands are still tapping along to whatever’s blaring on the radio. The song actually sounds kinda familiar and reminds him of driving to the Grand Canyon when he was in first grade—weird. The words bloom in his brain, though, making his skin crawl as Jack’s own wild eyes suddenly meet Dean’s questioning ones.

_“All our times have come. Here but now they’re gone…”_

That whooshing wet sound is there again, Jack’s cheek ticking in discomfort under the tape. Dean doesn’t have to guess--he knows what it feels like to be pissed on, but he also knows that this time it’ll actually be more than worth the cost. 

The muscles of the kid’s arm are bunched up, strained from being held so weirdly behind his back—then they suddenly go loose, but Jack doesn’t draw them in front of himself immediately.

_“Baby take my hand, don’t fear the reaper...We’ll be able to fly…”_

Fuck yes! Now Jack can tear off Dean’s tape and him and Jack and Cas can storm up to the front of the van and—And what?

From the little Dean can see, it looks like Cas is huddled close enough to Jack that if Luc only glances up real quick, he might not notice where Cas’s hands are. 

Dean bites his cheek.

_“Baby I’m your man...la la la…”_

Dean’s breath stutters in his throat when his friend’s gaze suddenly pops up over the side of Jack’s face, the wildness has only ratcheted up...but there’s something else there now, too. It’s that soft, pained look Cas gave him after Dean swooped in for their end-of-the-world kiss. It’s a sweet look, sappy as hell, and better than anything Dean can ever remember having in his life. But right now, it just scares the fuck out of him.

_“Romeo and Juliet are together in eternity, Romeo and Juliet…”_

Cas winks at Dean. 

Cas _never_ winks. Dean doesn’t need to hear the words to feel them punch his chest. _Goodbye, Dean._

_“Love of two is one, here but now they’re gone...and it was clear that she couldn’t go on…”_

Cas shoots one last glance toward the driver’s seat, then he’s slowly rising up. Dean wants to scream. He understands now. He’s such a dumbass for not figuring out what the self-sacrificing little shit’s real plan is.

_“The door was open and the wind appeared...”_

Cas is quiet as a goddamn shadow as he shuffles over toward the driver’s seat, jaw tight as his fiery blues never leave Luc. Cas huffs out a slow breath. 

_Don’t do this, Cas. Please! Let me! If something bad happens to you…_

Dean’s eyes flood with tears before he even realizes they’re stinging.

_“The candles flew then he appeared, saying don’t be afraid…”_

In a blur, Cas is pouncing to his feet, crying out, arms grabbing around Luc’s neck as the giant fucker hollers in surprise.

_“And she ran to him, and they started to fly…”_

The car jolts beneath them, sending Jack and Dean rolling along the floor. Cas screams bloody murder, clawing at Luc’s face, and wiry arms try to tear Goliath to shreds.

_“She had taken his hand…”_

Dean’s whole body lurches, hot pain stabbing through him as he collides with the van’s siding. Jack’s arms clutch around him, holding on with biting desperation.

_“Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper…”_

The oncoming red brick is the last thing Dean sees out the windshield before the world goes black.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

The world is black with pink, flashing spots. Blurry slits of light penetrate the darkness, and all Dean wants is to pull the covers up over his head and bury his face in Cas’s fluffy bedhead. His arm shifts, trying to reach for his friend’s thin waist--

“Dean!”

_What the fuck?_

It feels like shards of glass stab straight through Dean’s eyes as they snap open.

_Midnight ride, Mexico, duct tape, Luc…_

Dean flinches against the wave of nausea that rolls through him, his brain scrabbling to consciousness even though it feels like the rest of his body is pretty much dead to the world. His muscles jump and fight, trying to pull away from—what? 

“Dean! Dean, wake up!”

_Oh. It’s Jack._

A burn like lighting rips across Dean’s mouth—wait. No. Jack just ripped off the duct tape.

“Jaaa…?”

Dean’s tongue is thick and lazy like a slug in his mouth, refusing to form the letters he needs it to. He tries to twist again and, this time, he realizes it’s Jack’s slender hands that are holding where the duct tape is still pinning his arms to his back. Frustration roils in his stomach and Dean keeps pulling, and struggling, and pulling. The smell of smoke and burnt rubber is pushing through his cloudy senses, bringing the world and his thoughts into focus.

_Piss, brick wall..._ Cas _…_

“Jaaack?” His words are less slurred now and thank fuck for that. Eyes blinking back the blurriness, the dull inside of the van is illuminated in bright sunlight. Though the kid is slightly out of his line of sight, he catches a flash of dark blonde hair and grey sweatpants splattered in wet patches, “Wha…?”

With a sharp burn, the duct tape is suddenly gone, and Dean’s arms collapse at his sides, aching so good at the sudden release. A low groan rips out of his throat and launches him into a coughing fit as his chest seizes.

“Dean, Dean...” Jack’s hands are trying to hold him steady, wide eyes spilling with tears are suddenly overwhelming his vision.

“What…?”

“Dean…” Jack’s body shudders and his eyes dart up somewhere behind wherever Dean’s lying. Dean’s body jerks, muscles starting to get with the program and help him roll onto his side. Tears and snot are a mess on the kid’s face, but Dean has to look away, he has to know what happened— “Cas...he…”

Dean’s pitching himself up onto wobbly knees, almost toppling over before Jack swoops under his arm to steady him. That’s when Dean sees it.

The cab is completely empty and a jagged hole where the windshield used to be is face-to-face with a solid, brick wall. 

“ _Caa..._ ” All the air in Dean’s lungs bursts out of him like it does when Luc lands a good kick right to his gut. 

This hurts infinitely worse.

Dean almost falls face first onto the pavement when he clamors through the side door, but it barely registers since all his nerves are on fire anyway and he’s pretty sure a goddamn gorilla could start chasing him and his heart rate wouldn’t be able to get up any higher.

He squints against the harsh sun but stumbles out of the van nonetheless. Jack’s not next to him anymore, and he’s not sure his brain is working well enough to wonder where the kid is because...there’s people looking at him.

A shit ton of people surrounding the van, talking, yelling, wide-eyed, and even more running toward them. So many eyes and lips, noses and colorful t-shirts that aren’t Luc, Cas, or Jack. Dean’s knees might’ve given out right then and there—but a wet cough has his eyes snapping over to the wall that just fucked with his whole world. Except it isn’t Cas. It’s Luc.

The man’s long limbs are sprawled out across the black ground, twisted in unnatural angles. The shining white of bone jabs out from one of Luc’s legs. Dean almost can’t see his eyes in the mess of his face. Pale, bursting and bloody along the left side, part of his cheek flaps in the breeze. He hardly looks human.

Dean’s legs are ambling him forward before his brain even gives the order.

The closer he gets the more he realizes that wasn’t a wet cough. Luc is gurgling, slowly drowning in his own blood and spit. The man’s eyelids are sticky and slow, gaze not focusing as Dean nears the mangled body. The fucker whines, limbs twitching as his head lolls aimlessly from side to side. For a moment—a _second_ —Dean wants to cry. He wants to drop to his knees and cry his eyes out as he watches the most familiar face in the world choke to death while it tries to scream in pain.

Then that moment passes.

Dean’s not sure if it’s the years of constant fear, of pain and anger and shame and guilt and stolen time—or maybe it’s just the rush of adrenaline, but seeing Luc lying there, as worthless as he always made Dean feel...something snaps.

A growl that rumbles low in Dean’s belly, rattling its way out of his lungs and past his teeth pierces the blue sky. It’s not a growl once it hits the air, though. It’s a scream. Dean is screaming. Screaming and crying and kicking. He’s kicking the twisted ball Luc makes up on the ground, chills and anger rocketing through his body with each sticky wail the giant lets out.

For every time Luc bent Dean over the table, fucked into him so hard Dean threw up, then made him clean it up with his pillowcase, Dean kicks him. 

For every time the psycho held Jack’s cherry-red face down on his cock until the kid turned purple and passed out, Dean kicks him. 

For every time Luc made Cas feel so unworthy of life that Cas started to agree, Dean kicks him.

“ _Are you happy?_ ” He screams at this thing pretending to be a human being. Dean’s face is numb even though every other part of him feels like it’s on fire and he’s not even sure if he’ll remember any of this later. He hopes he doesn’t, “I have _nothing_ because of you! Seven fucking years! You took _seven--_ ” kick, “ _fucking--_ ” kick, “ _years_ from me!” Dean’s lips smack on the tears dripping into his mouth, “You’re the slut! You’re the one who fucked little boys!” Everything muscle feels weak, wholly incapable of delivering the kind of pain Luc deserves. Kicking the man while he’s down doesn’t do a goddamn thing to erase all the bite marks on Dean’s shoulders, the bruises on Jack’s hips, the cuts on Cas’s beautiful wrists. Nothing Dean does to Luc will ever equal what he did to them. 

But this sure feels like a good start.

Dean’s leg rears back before driving forward, landing one final blow to the monster’s precious dick. The wet crunch that rings in Dean’s ears is the best and worst sound in the world.

But Luc doesn’t cry out, doesn’t curl into himself.

When Dean’s blurry eyes land on the shredded remains of Luc’s face, he sees why. Those beady eyes aren’t so beady anymore. They’re dull and unblinking. Lifeless.

His knees finally do give out.

“ _Mommy_ ,” Jack’s groan is muffled in the cotton of Dean’s ears but his eyes dart over his shoulder, over to the front of the car where Jack is hunched over—

He’s hunched over Cas.

For the second time today, Dean’s body kicks into autopilot, sending him scrambling over. He blinks, and he’s there. His last brain cell is all that keeps him from grabbing Cas up into his arms when he sees that his friend’s body is all twisted up, too—though not nearly as much of a horror show as Luc. He can’t keep his hands from cupping Cas’s pale face, shaky thumbs trying to rub some color into his cheeks.

“Cas?” He puts his ear to Cas’s chest and—yes, there’s still a heartbeat. But it’s so faint, so weak compared to the steady _thump-thump-thump_ Dean presses his ear to when he falls asleep at night. His breath hitches, praying that those baby blues will open. He needs them to open, he cups his friend’s face, “Cas? _Cas?_ ” Chest caving in, Dean can’t fucking breathe. Taking another wet breath, he gently kisses soft eyelids, the crease of the boy’s forehead, anywhere, _everywhere_ , “C’mon, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, pressing his lips against Cas’s ear, “I need you to wake up. P-Please, Cas. Please, sweetheart, I n-need you here...with me... _please_.”

“Son, you need to step back,” the thick rasp of a man’s voice nearly jolts Dean out of his skin. His hands clutch a little tighter as his eyes whip up. When the fuck did an ambulance get here?

“Wha--?”

“We need you to step back, this boy needs immediate medical attention.”

Hands are suddenly all over Dean, grabbing his shoulders and arms, trying to tear him away from Cas.

“What? No!” but the arms are so much stronger than him, like he’s trying to fight a grizzly bear, “Cas! Cas!” He kicks and bites and tries to claw his way back to his friend’s pale, little body. But now more hands are raining down on him, grabbing his legs and wrestling him to the ground.

“Easy, kid!” another, lighter voice hollers, but Dean doesn’t really give two shits right now.

“Cas! _Cas!_ ”

Through the haze of every emotion under the sun and the blur of the river he’s crying onto the asphalt, Dean watches half of his soul get loaded into the back of the ambulance. Lights and horn blaring, the thing speeds away to somewhere Dean isn’t. 

This is the farthest they’ve ever been apart, and the distance is only growing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I've been so grateful for all the comments I've received. See you next week!


	12. "Celebration Day"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Celebration Day" by Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new notes for this week. I can't believe we're more than half way through now :)  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

_ Beep! Beep! Beep! _

“Damn it!” Mary Winchester huffs under her breath.

Her fuzzy socks pound against the linoleum as she sweeps into the kitchen .  Light tendrils of smoke float  heavenward from the oven, the hot scent of burning cheese hits like a wall when she rounds the corner . 

Throwing the oven open, Mary nearly singes her hand reaching for the tin dish before grabbing the oven  mitt shaped like a rooster that is resting on the counter .  As soon as she has slid the burnt corpse of their Winchester Surprise onto the cool stovetop, she rushes to the blaring smoke detector with the dish towel .  It only takes a handful of minutes to fan the area surrounding the little screaming box before it falls silent, leaving an  almost equally loud ringing in her ears .  It takes three more chiming rings, before Mary realizes that  it’s actually the landline making the racket now.

“Honey, can you get that?” She calls out .  No answer. Another  shrill ring makes Mary wince .  She shuffles over to the corded phone hung up above the recycling bin, the one  they’d had since before Dean was born. 

Mary’s heart squeezes under her ribs, but  that’s nothing new.

“Hello?”  __ _ It’s _ __ _ probably one _ _ of those robot telemarketers again, I swear those are the only calls we ever get on this old dinosaur. _

“ _ Hi, is this the Winchester residence? _ ” An even, feminine voice asks.

“ Mhm ,” Mary hums in ascent, prodding the charred hot dish with a fork—burnt too far through to be salvageable, “Fuck,” she  sighs .

_ That’s _ _ what I get for getting lost in the photo albums...again. _

“ _ Excuse me? _ ”

“Not you, I’m sorry,” Mary drops the fork onto the oven  mitt she’d tossed to the side, “What’s this about now?”

Thick footsteps  thump down the stairwell, the flash of long legs appears before Sam’s dark, fluffy head pops into the kitchen.

“Sorry, Mom, I had my earbuds in—jeez, what’s burning?”

_ “This is Sheriff Jody Mills with the Lawrence Police Department _ _ —“ _ Mary freezes.

A cold shiver striking her spine like lightning.

“Mom?” Sam’s nose scrunches, brow furrowing when Mary  doesn’t answer.

“ _ I’m calling about your son, Dean _ _ — “ _

“I-Is he dead?”  She’s choking around a water balloon that will burst if she  here’s the words  she’s been terrified of for seven years. 

Her knuckles turn white where  they’re curled around the towel bar.

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up as he swings around the island, staring at her and ducking in to try to hear the caller .  Mary  can’t tear her eyes from her youngest’s wide, hazel ones .  She sees a memory, a flash of green that hurts so bad she might die.

Her breath stutters.

“ _ No, ma’am, _ ” Barely contained giddiness lilts the Sheriff’s voice, “ _ He’s in Oklahoma _ .”

  
  


** |||||||||||||||||||| **

  
  


Dean hooks his chin over Jack’s head, staring down the same road  he’s been staring at for the last twenty minutes .  He pulls the weirdly thin blanket that one of the  cops had draped over his shoulders a little tighter around them, Jack’s nose softly poking his neck .  The blanket is that same  scratchy fabric as the one on their bed in the basement, but at least this one smells a hell of a lot better.

The police are here, Luc is dead,  they’re safe .  Truly safe for the first time in God knows how  long.  Dean should be happy .  He should be fucking  _ ecstatic _ .  Instead, he’s just  twitchy , and anxious, and might just toss Jack over his shoulder and make a run for the woods if he  has to deal with one more goddamn surprise today .  Other than the  twitchiness , though,  he’s just  kinda numb.

That’s not true.

He feels...hollow ?  Like he just got the Cas scooped right out of his center when that ambulance sped away and disappeared like it had never even been there .  Maybe it’s the concussion they told him he has, or  he’s just loopy from an empty stomach—but  he’s almost convinced that if he stares at the street long enough,  maybe the big clunker will turn around and deliver Dean’s best friend back into his arms.

“Dean?”

Jack’s  low voice is feather-light, and he tips his head back to look up at Dean through wet lashes.

“Yeah, kid?”

He lifts a hand up, thumbing around the edge of the neon green Band-aid on the kid’s forehead for the umpteenth time since  they’d stuck it on him .  He examines it again—still no blood dripping past .  That’s as good a sign as any .  Dean already gave Jack his own  once-over since  there’s no way in hell  he’s just gonna trust just anybody to patch the kid up .  Training be damned .  Keeping Jack as healthy as can be—that’s Dean’s job .  Don’t think he  doesn’t have his eye on all the uniforms walking around, doing this or that .  After all, the cops had only asked them their questions and gotten them set up with the paramedics  _ after _ they’d stopped pinning Dean down .  Just like Luc does.

Well,  _ did _ .

Yeah,  Dean’s keeping his peepers peeled, but at least that one  cop who’d given them the blanket and the water bottles had been nice .  What did he say his name was ?  Justin? Jesse?

The paramedics had found— to everyone’s surprise—that the only injuries from the crash was the cut near Jacks hairline, Dean’s concussion, and a  smattering of bruises from being tossed around in, what is now, a crunched-up heap of metal .  But...how bad a shape Cas is in?

_ Cas. _

“Are they gonna take us somewhere ?  Are we gonna get to see Cas soon?”

Dean huffs a laugh because sometimes the kid is a freakin’ mind-reader, too .  Or  maybe he’s just thinking about the other boy as much as Dean is .  Yeah ,  that’s more likely .  It’s still a damn good question .  One Dean’s only just started trying to figure out .  What the fuck happens now?

“Y’know what?” Slipping off the  tailgate , Dean plants his feet on the ground .  Jack  seems to get the message, tightening his arms where  they’re slung around Dean’s neck and his legs where  they’re wrapped around his waist .  Dean hefts the kid more securely in his arms, still tucked up in the blanket, “Let’s find out.”

He takes all of two steps before one of the paramedics, the one  who’d put the Band-aid on Jack, rounds the ambulance and is suddenly in front of them again .  It seems like forever ago that they got their mini check-ups, but  it’s not surprising some adult’s been hovering around to watch over them .  Maybe Dean’s slipping and he just  didn’t notice.

The man has dark hair and warm eyes, but  he’s nearly as tall as Luc and Dean takes a half step back on instinct.

The medic notices the move and holds his purple-gloved hands up, allowing the few feet of space Dean puts between them.

“Hold on a second, guys,” the medic’s voice is deep and calm, lilting a little with an accent Dean’s heard at some point, somewhere but can’t tack to anywhere specific place  at the moment , “You guys need to hang out here a little bit longer, that’s all .  Jesse is gonna be back in a second and then he’s gonna drive you to the hospital.”

“Where’s Cas?” Dean snaps.

He  doesn’t mean to sound so  angry, but he needs to know, and  he’s never been this far away from his friend and it makes his chest  almost unbearably tight.

The corner of the man’s lips rises in a shy smile .  He opens his mouth, but then the nice  cop is rounding the other side of the ambulance .  Dean flinches, hair  prickling on the back of his neck.

“Cesar?” the  cop asks.

The two, broad-shouldered men are now blocking both sides of Dean,  essentially backing him up against the giant vehicle behind him .  He takes another step backward, tightening his grip on Jack.

The nice  cop —Jesse , apparently—looks between Dean and the medic—Cesar .  He shares a glance with Cesar that  seems to give him whatever information  he’s looking for, and that’s weird because Dean thought  only he and Cas had mind-reading superpowers with each other.

“Dean?” Jesse  doesn’t raise his hands like Cesar, instead he drops to a squat in front of Dean  who’s now leaning against the ambulance (Jack is  kinda heavy, sue him) .  And, okay,  it’s a little weird that the guy is talking up to him like  he’s some chubby-cheeked kindergartner, but it does go a  little way towards loosening the knots in Dean’s stomach .  He takes a small breath, focusing on the warm, familiar weight of Jack's head on his shoulder .  Yeah ,  that’s good .  Dean could use a little familiar right now, “I’m here to drive you and Jack to the hospital now so the doctors can run a few more tests.”

“What?” Dean’s brow knits together and his eyes flash up to Cesar  whose shoulders are a tad more relaxed now that Jesse’s here, “Wait, I thought you said we were fine?”

“You don’t have any serious injuries from the crash, at least...but you need to see a doctor, son,” Cesar’s features soften and that only makes Dean even more  fidgety .  He starts to open his mouth, about to protest yet another stranger prodding at him, but then Cesar’s eyes glance down at the boy nestled in Dean’s arms, “You both do.”

Well,  it’s not like Dean’s gonna get in the way of Jack getting the medicine or whatever that he  probably needs just to be a stubborn asshole...but he needs someone to answer his question first.

Dean’s gaze falls back to Jesse, “Is that where Cas is gonna be?”

Jesse gives him that same sad smile Cesar  had, and Dean wishes  they’d all stop looking at him like some pathetic zoo animal and just answer him already,  godammit .

“Yes, your friend will be there, too,” the cop’s expression turns more serious, more genuine and Dean’s feathers unruffle (a little), “Is it  alright if I take you there now?”

Sighing, he nods .  Jesse looks like  he’s about to offer to take Jack, but Dean narrows his eyes and barely holds in a growl .  Luckily, the  dude gets the message.

Dean scooches Jack up higher on his hip and follows the officer’s lead over to a waiting squad car.

  
  


** |||||||||||||||||||| **

  
  


Dean forgot how many people are in the world .  He forgot that you could walk into a building  that’s jam-packed with humans all as close and  jumbled together as the marshmallows in the off-brand Lucky Charms Luc bought them.

Jesse  wasn’t the only one to drive them to the hospital, another  cop who introduced himself as “Garth” sat up in the passenger’s seat while Jesse drove, giving them a run-down of what was  gonna happen at the hospital .  Dean still  doesn’t know what kind of “tests” they  wanna run, but  he’s got an idea and he  prays it’s not that .  But...if  that’s what it takes to see Cas, fuck,  he’ll let them do anything they want.

What  he’ll let them do to Jack is a different story—but  they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it.

“Right this way,” Garth says from where  he’s now flanked on one side of Dean with Jesse on the other. Being crowded-in like that had bothered him before, but the fact that the two officers  seem to make a little bubble around him and Jack that the countless other people walking around  don’t invade—well, it seems a fair trade-off .  Garth gently steers Dean’s shoulder down a mostly empty hallway .  He  doesn’t mind the touch too much since Garth is about as tall as Dean and somehow even skinnier .  He could  probably take the guy if he had to—so he allows it.

The hallway is short and at the end of it are two women in scrubs waiting for them .  Dean holds Jack’s hand a little tighter in his own, drifting to the side a little as they walk, subtly scooching Jack behind him.

The shorter woman with hair that reminds Dean of strawberries is smiling but it  doesn’t match the same soft, sad look everyone seems to have .  The other woman—she has brown hair  that’s not as dark as Cas’s—is fidgeting but trying to hide it.

“Hi, Dean,” The redheaded lady chirps. How does everyone know his name? He supposes that one cop who asked him questions first probably told a bunch of people—but it’s still unsettling that all these  new faces all know who he is already, “My name is Charlie, and this is Maggie .  We’re nurses here,” mousy woman next to her gives a quick nod .  Dean eyes them both.

“Hi.”

Jack pokes his head around the side of Dean’s ribs, one hand in Dean’s, the other holding onto the  hem of the older boy’s shirt .  The little guy is about as tucked up next to Dean as he can  possibly be and still be walking on his own .  Maybe Dean would get annoyed by it any other day—but this sure as fuck  isn’t any other day .  It’s kind of  nice actually, to have someone to look out for so he  doesn’t end up drowning in all the new trying to sink his battleship and pull him under.

The nurses give Jack big, beaming smiles that have the kid’s fingers clutching tighter even as he gives them a shy one of his own.

“Hi Jack!” Charlie says .  Jack’s cheeks heat up a little at being directly addressed, eyes widening a little before snaps his head back to look up at Dean. He chews at his lower lip, glancing back at the two nurses .  It suddenly occurs to Dean that he  hasn’t heard Jack speak to anyone but him .  Even when Cesar and the other medics had asked them questions, Dean had answered for Jack or Jack had shaken his head in response . 

The kid starts squirming a little.

“What is it, buddy?”

The effect of his voice is almost instant, Jack stops  fidgeting, and he frees his bitten lip.

The kid tugs at Dean’s shirt, lifting onto his tiptoes as Dean bends down to meet him halfway .  All secret-like, Jack cups a hand around Dean’s ear to whisper, “Can you tell them I say ‘Hello?’”

As soon as they draw back, Dean tries to catch the kid’s eye .  Is he serious ?  Jack  immediately steps back behind Dean, though, burrowing his head in the small of Dean’s back.

Dean shrugs .  If Cas can play Mommy for the kid than Dean can at least do this for him.

“Jack says ‘Hi.’”

“Oh,” Charlie’s smile dims  considerably, sliding into something more in line with worry .  She pulls her lips a little tighter, forcing that smile back up as she claps her hands, “Well, uh, right,” with a side eye to Maggie, she continues, “anyway, I’m going to take you, Dean, to see Doctor Hanscum—“

“And I’ll sit with Jack in the waiting room .  Then, Dr. Hanscum will see him next.”

Dean’s muscles turn to concrete.

“Huh? No,” He’s already shaking his head .  Jack’s hands reach up to clamp around Dean’s waist, furiously shaking his own head where  it’s still hidden against the older boy.

“Dean…?” the kid’s voice catches though  it’s obvious  he’s trying to hide his panic.

“He’ll be just fine—” Garth starts, hand falling on Dean’s shoulder again .  This time Dean rears away from the touch, almost falling back into Jack.

“Nuh-uh .  _ No _ .  No way,” His gaze shoots to Maggie whose outstretched arms  immediately retract , “That’s not happening, sister.”

Reaching back, Dean scoots Jack ‘round front of him where he can keep  an eye on him in  case they try pulling some bullshit move like tearing Jack away from him too .  His arms lock around the kid’s slight shoulders.

“Dean--” Jesse starts, voice mellow like  he’s trying to keep a horse from being spooked.

Dean’s not having  _ none _ of that .  Not today.

“No,” he says, gritting his teeth .  Jack’s arms cross over his own, “The kid stays with me .  I don’t care where you take us, but Jack’s not leaving my sight.”

Dean’s heart spasms painfully in his chest .  He  can’t take all of them .  If Jesse and Garth and Charlie and Magie get their hands on him,  it’s over .  Dean’s  weak as shit, even more so than usual, and they could easily wrestle Jack out of his arms if they try--

“Okay,” Jesse’s  droopy smile returns, but Dean  doesn’t give a fuck .  A breath he didn’t realize he’d sucked in stutters out of his chest, “But the exam is going to be very...personal .  So, if you or Jack decide you want to be alone at any point--”

“We won’t.”

Jack shakes his head as well before turning in Dean’s arms to bury his face in his stomach.

Dean narrows his eyes at the nurses, daring them to  even fucking  _ try _ something .  Charlie only clears her throat, surprising Dean with a gentler quirk of her lips that  actually looks like it belongs as she says, “Right this way, then.”

  
  


** |||||||||||||||||||| **

  
  


Dean’s not at all surprised when Jack climbs up onto his lap the second the door closes behind them .  With a thick, wooden barrier now between them and the officers standing outside it, Dean lets his aching muscles melt into the plastic chair a little .  He’s not sure where Maggie went off to, but the less people the better, honestly.

_ Not something I ever thought  _ _ I’d _ _ hope for. _

The room  isn’t too cold, but Dean’s skin is still covered in goosebumps and  he’s shaking a little .  He pulls the kid’s warm weight in against his chest, Jack’s head heavy, and grounding where it tips back against Dean’s shoulder .  He scans the tiny exam room Charlie has shuffled them into, from the padded table with its paper cover, to the painting with trees and a river, until finally landing back on the little desk Charlie is seated at next to them.

She swipes  some kind of badge over a sensor .  It weirdly reminds Dean that credit cards exist and are, like, an actual thing in this universe .  Whatever the badge is, it has the computer  monitor she’s looking at blink to life with yet another picture of trees and a river that may as well be the same as the painting to Dean’s slightly blurry eyesight.

Up close, and without the weight of her eyes fixed on him, Dean takes in more details of this Charlie person than he had in the hallway .  She’s got some freckles like Cas tells him he has, except hers are only on her arms .  Her skin looks  really soft , and Dean  kind of wants to reach over and see if  she’s real . 

He forgets the name of those uniforms that nurses wear—they kinda remind Dean of pajamas—but hers are  actually pretty cool since  they’ve got Batman on them . 

Dean forgot Batman existed, too.

Her breasts rise and fall as she breathes and clacks away at the computer, and Dean  sort of gets caught in the rhythm of it .  It’s soothing .  Like when he would watch Cas’s own chest rise and fall while the other boy slept .  Like water swishing back and forth, always moving, and a sign of something big working in the world . 

_ Cas. _

Dean’s stomach flops violently and he would’ve entirely lost count of how many times  that’s happened today if  he’d been keeping track to begin with.

“Where’s Cas?”

Charlie’s bright red waves are all  springy and bouncy when she turns soft eyes to Dean .  Turning slightly in her seat, she meets Jack's eyes before directing her gaze back to Dean.

“He’s in surgery right now,” she says, twisting a bracelet on her wrist with all the colors in the rainbow .  Dean’s  pretty sure rainbows have another meaning...but fuck if his brain has the energy to remember what that meaning is .  How’s he supposed to think of anything else when all he can see is his best friend being sliced open on a steel table somewhere in this same building ?  Blood dripping down his pale skin, all his guts removed and put in metal dishes by some psycho in a white coat—

“Dean?” 

Dean’s eyes blink back into focus first on Charlie’s concerned frown, then Jack's puppy eyes .  God, the kid looks exhausted .  How can a ten-year-old have bags under his eyes like  he’s been working the night shift at a factory for the last two decades?

Dean ticks up the corner of his mouth, looking at Jack since  that’s easier than looking at Charlie, and he shoots the kid a wink.

Jack winks back with both eyes and Dean will absolutely break the neck of anyone who tries to hurt the little guy ever again.

The kid settles back easily against Dean then, his full attention back on Charlie.

“Wha—” Clearing the  rasp from his throat, Dean starts again, “What about Cas now ?  He’s in a-a surgery?”

The nurse hesitates a beat, but her shoulders soon slump in resignation .  Sighing with her elbows on her knees, Charlie’s voice turns even gentler,

“Yes, your friend is in surgery .  There was...a lot of damage.”

“Can we see him soon?” Jack's feather-light voice buzzes against Dean’s chest.

“Hopefully,” Charlie’s face brightens a little as she sits up straight again, “Dr. Cain is the best there is, Cas is in good hands .  Now,”  Charlie swipes her badge again since the monitor had fallen asleep, “the best way you can help him is by telling me everything you know about him .  Do you know his last name ?  Where he lived before...um, before ?  Did he ever mention who his mom and dad are? Is there anything  he’s allergic to ?  Stuff like that.”

“Hi-His last name?” Dean breathes .  How does he not know Cas’s last name ?  He spent fucking  _ years _ with him, they’ve...done stuff together—and he doesn’t even know Cas’s last name ?  Let alone any of the other stuff the nurse just asked .  Maybe if he  hadn’t been too busy stuffing his tongue down the dude’s  throat, he’d asked him normal questions like a human being, but now Cas is  gonna die on that cold table and the  cops won’t even be able to tell his family because  Dean’s a moron and all he knows about Cas’s life before Luc was—

“Angel,” he blurts .  At Charlie’s  furrowed brow, Dean licks his lips and explains, “Cas—his real name is Castiel .  Like the angel .  I think  he’s from Kansas, too, b-but I  don’t know .  He’s got, uh, four  brothers and sisters . Maybe ?  Did I already tell the police that?”  There’s pretty good odds  he’s just repeating shit at this point .  Who knows ?  Everything before they got to the hospital is  kind of hazy in his brain, like how he greys out with Luc...except he  wasn’t getting the Ever-Loving beaten out of him just from stupid questions so  he’s not sure why he  doesn’t remember much.

Charlie’s fingers fly across the keys, and she’s nodding, “Awesome, dude .  What else?”

“Uh…” Sweat creeps down the back of Dean’s t-shirt, making him twitch and shiver .  What else ?  That was all he knew !  He’d fucked up and never asked...what was gonna happen now ?  If Cas had an allergy to pine nuts or bee stings or something, Dean woulda known, right ?  No, Cas  couldn’t have been allergic to bees, the  dude loved to talk about them a lot .  He  wouldn’t talk about bees if he  was allergic to them, right ?  Then again,  that’d be just like Cas, though .  To love something he should hate, love it even if it kills him—

Dean  doesn't realize  he’s squeezing Jack until the kid squirms a  little and big grey eyes look up at him again .  He blames some of his and Cas’s psychic powers wearing off on Jack for the way the kid looks at Dean like he can see the feelings itching under his skin like ringworms.

The kid’s sober little face wears determination that he  must’ve learned from Cas since he sure as fuck  didn’t learn it from Dean .  He gulps when the little arms settle on top of his, giving a squeeze that even Charlie  doesn’t notice .  Solidly, surely, Jack says, “It’s okay, Dean.”

Dean’s chest spasms and he just ends up squeezing Jack harder the more his eyes sting .  This is  ridiculous and fucking stupid .  They’re all wasting time that could be spent helping Cas just so Dean can lose his shit in front of the kid  who’s depending on him and some nice nurse lady  he’s known for fifteen minutes . 

_ Smooth move, fuckhole. _

“Dean?” Charlie’s eyes are unbearably gentle now and his fingers twitch under that gaze, “How about I get you and Jack a cup of water, huh? You can take a second to re-coop and then we can finish this part up? Sound like a plan, Stan?”

Dean bites at his lip, giving a tiny nod with his eyes fixed on the  speckled tile beneath the weird, old tennis shoes someone had given him to wear since Luc had had them traveling in ratty socks .  Just another strange-as-hell thing to add to the mountain of weird shit Dean is sitting on.

Charlie’s up and out of the little swivel chair after she switches the monitor off. She gives both of them a wink before flitting out like a breeze and closing the door behind her.

As soon as the  _ click! _ of the metal handle latching in place starts to echo in his ears, Dean’s whole body goes stock still. 

_ Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Not again. Not again. We’re in a tiny room, with no windows, that’s guarded from the outside and I could maybe make a run for it right now, maybe scoop Jack up and hightail it into the woods like I shoulda done long ago, but I can’t leave Cas here. Shit— _

“Dean?”

A soft hand is patting Dean’s chest, Jack staring up at him from where the kid is twisted around in his lap. A shadow of a smile crosses his lips and Dean would love to know how the kid is so fucking calm about all of this.

“H-Huh?”

Jack’s eyes are set in stone, sure and wise like Mr. Miyagi.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he says, nuzzling his cheek in against Dean’s collarbone, “I promise I’ll be right here. I’m your huckleberry.”

Dean laughs at that. Well, it’s meant to be a laugh but comes out way more gaspy and wet than it has any right to. His throat clicks as he swallows.

“I---yeah, I know you won’t, bud,” Dean pats his hand on bony shoulder blades, “we’re gonna be just fine, just fine. Cas, too. We’re all gonna be fine, alright?”

_ Liar, liar. Someone's pants are on fire, cupcake. _

  
  


** ||||||||||||||||||| **

  
  


The rest of Charlie’s questions, just like all the answers Dean scrapes from the bottom of the barrel, are blurry in his head .  It’s weird because  he’s never greyed out from just talking without, like, Luc being around or something .  He  didn’t think that was even a thing for him,  but, now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t really remember much about answering the police questions after the guy (Jesse ?  Dean’s already losing pieces of it all) started asking about Dean’s life before he got dragged down to that fucking pit . 

Maybe that’s what just happened, because that prickly fog took over sometime after Charlie said the words “mom and dad,” and everything is only blinking back into focus once she steps back out of the room. The door clicks shut behind her, only a shadow compared to the resounding  _ clank! _ of the steel door back in the basement.

Jack is looking at him again, but there isn’t much surprise or worry on his face he just looks...squishy? Is that a thing?

Dean’s fingers twitch and he feels the glide of paper between his fingers. His gaze drops down to find an official-looking piece of paper pinched in his fingers. The official-ness is kinda undercut by Charlie’s flowy handwriting, though. It looks pretty from whatever purple pen she had been using, and it takes a second for the words of the note to make sense. There’s another doctor’s name that Dean doesn’t remember her saying. Figures.

Licking his lips, he tries to shake loose an answer that he knows he’s not gonna find.

“It’s a referee for an eye doctor,” Jack says, “Nurse Charlie said you need glasses.”

Rubbing at his blurry eye, Dean sighs, “Huh,” trying to swallow down the tightness in his throat.

_ I guess he really  _ did _ fuck up my eye that bad. _

“She also is going to referee you to a leg doctor,” Jack's eyes fall to Dean’s scrawny, jean-clad legs, giving his knee a reassuring pat, “So they can fix the way you walk funny. Then you can walk like me and Cas.”

Dean’s insides twist. Did he really tell Charlie about his limp? Or his eyes? Or is it obvious just by looking at Dean how banged up his poor excuse for a body is?

“I-It’s ‘referral,’ not referee.”

“Oh,” Jacks voice perks up, rolling the word off his tongue, “ Referrrral .  Referraaaaaal .  Referral.”

“There ya go.”

Dean flinches in his seat when the door opens again, feeling the calm that had started to ebb in when it was just him and Jack fade away insanely quick.

It’s Charlie again, but this time she’s carrying two folded up hospital gowns and another round of waters.

“Alright guys,”  there’s a deliberate brightness in the nurse’s voice even though her eyes are rimmed in  red.  Was she...crying ?  Did Dean make her cry? “ So, you can take off everything, right down to your birthday suits, and then you’ll put one of these bad boys on.”

Dean’s muscles seize and Jack grunts at the tensing but  doesn’t make any move to wriggle away .  In  fact, he  actually sinks back against Dean a little more.

“Wha?”

All the panic bubbling up in Dean’s chest must read like a neon sign on his face because Charlie’s soft look is back, and she’s suddenly down and squatting in front of Dean just like Jesse had.

“We’re  gonna do the exam part now,” she says lightly, “Here’s how it’s going to go: first, I’m  gonna leave the room again and you and Jack are going to strip down and put all your clothes in the bags Officer Cuevas gave me. Then you’re  gonna put on these two gowns—ties facing out like you’re wearing a robe. Then, when  you’re both all ready, Dr.  Hanscum is going to come in and check you both over to make sure  there’s nothing urgent—”

Dean’s fingers tighten where they rest on Jack’s stomach, “Jack’s fine. Don’t you think I’d be screaming bloody murder until he got help if he wasn’t?” Dean snips, “That’s my  _ job _ .”

Resting his cheek on the kid’s greasy hair, Dean stares the nurse down, daring her to call him out on being a  pretty shitty protector for Cas or to ask how he thinks he can take care of Jack when  he’s such a ball of stupid himself .  She  doesn’t do either,  instead she only smiles.

“And you’ve done a great job, Dean,” she says, “I mean, you’re both here, for crying out loud. You’re damn good at your job in my book,” Charlie sighs and sets the gowns on Dean’s knee, “But there might be something wrong on Jack’s—or your—insides. Something the doctor might only be able to find with a stethoscope or by shining a little light in your mouth, y’know?”

Dean hadn’t thought about that.

“Oh,” he glances down and finds Jack’s puppy eyes still on him, asking if he should be afraid. Dean’s so tired, and he doesn’t want either of them to be afraid if they don’t gotta be, “yeah, uh, I guess that’s okay then.”

Charlie’s smile dials up a few watts, going crooked in a way that is infectious and almost makes Dean smile. Almost.

“Alright then, dudes,” Charlie heads back to the door for the umpteenth time, “once you get all gown-ed up, you can crack the door a little and hop up here,” she pats the paper-covered table, “And I’ll go get Donna.”

“D-Donna?”

“Dr. Hanscum,” Charlie’s eye holds a playful glint as she steps out the door, “Don’t worry, bub. The doc’s a grade-A sweetheart, you’ll love her. Remember to crack the door.”

Then the nurse is  gone, and Dean looks down at the gowns, jaw tightening before he huffs out a sigh.

“Alright, kid,” Dean nudges Jack up and off of him, suddenly kinda cold now that the little guy isn’t plastered to him anymore, “Here we go.”

  
  


** |||||||||||||||||||| **

  
  


‘Gown’ is a generous word for the paper-thin, giant pillowcase Dean is wrapped up in. His legs are bare and cold as hell, and he just feels so...naked. If the way Jack's jaw is clacking, and how he’s all huddled in on himself is any indicator, the kid’s in the same boat. Even with the front flaps crisscrossed and covering everything it still feels like they cover nothing at all.

Dean opts not to hop up on the table just yet. He was never sitting when Luc thundered down the steps for playtime, and he’s not about to meet some stranger sitting down either.

He’s got Jack up on the table though, heels bouncing against the plastic runner even as he shivers .  Rubbing his hands over the goosebumps on Jack’s upper arms, Dean startles when  there’s a little knock on the cracked open door .  The knock is followed by a blonde woman  whose grin takes up the room as soon as she enters .  He whips around  immediately , carefully taking another step to his side so  he’s directly between her and Jack.

“Hiya there,” she says, “I’m Dr. Hanscum, but you two can just call me Donna if you’d like,” chocolate brown eyes give one cursory scan before, “My lan, Charlie, could you rustle up some heated blankets for our friends here?” Her warm gaze falls back to Dean as Charlie gives a quick ‘aye, aye’ and heads out, “No sense in freezing your cabooses off if it can be helped.”

The doctor’s—Donna’s—voice lilts in some thick accent Dean’s not sure  he’s ever heard .  Maybe in a movie once ?  It’s weird but also  kinda ...disarming ?  Like Dean  can’t imagine someone with that accent hurting a fly, let alone him and Jack .  Still, Dean  doesn’t move from where he stands in front of the kid, even if his  hiked-up shoulders do slump a little .  But, hey,  maybe this won’t be so  bad after all .

It is bad.

Okay, maybe it’s not as bad as the deep, dark, scary parts of Dean’s brain had been fearing, but it sure as fuck ain’t good.

Dean hadn’t hesitated to volunteer to go first when the doctor asked. No way was he gonna let Jack be anybody’s guinea pig.

He hadn’t really had the time or brain power to think about what an ‘exam’ might mean, but, boy, he should have.

The whole stethoscope and putting that squeezy cuff around his arm that blows up isn’t the bad part, it starts to bring back memories of going to the doctor’s office as a kid and that’s actually kinda okay. He even cracks a small smile at Jack where the kid is cuddled up in a heated blanket and sitting in a chair right next to the padded table.

As soon as Donna asks Dean to lie back—once again asking if he wants Jack to leave the room first, to which only he grits out another sharp ‘no’—his skin starts to get too tight. Then his thoughts start to float, and by the time her cool hands are gently touching his ass for god knows what reason, everything is storm-cloud grey.

Dean is suddenly blinking up at the exam room’s white, popcorn ceiling when he comes to.

“It’s okay, he’ll come back soon,” Jack says somewhere off to his side. He recognizes the kid’s tiny fingers that got twined with his own at some point.

“Does he, uh, do this a lot?”

Jack’s hand squeezes his and, even though his tongue feels a little too thick in his mouth, Dean’s pretty sure the sentence-making part of his brain is coming online again.

“S-Sometimes,” Dean mutters, squeezing back and rising to sit up.

He  must’ve been out for a fair bit since Donna is in the wheel-y stool Charlie had been in before, no longer hovering over him, and Charlie has taken a seat in the other waiting chair  that’s just like Jack’s.

Three sets of eyes are suddenly on him, making his cheeks hot, “Heh. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Dean,” Jack starts, cutting in even as the doctor’s mouth opens. The kid furrows his brow, a disappointed frown curving his lips, “What does Cas always tell you about saying you’re sorry when something’s not your fault?”

Dean’s eyes burn, forget stinging .  He really wants to bury his face in that  ruffled , black hair right now and just  feel his friend’s very alive, very warm skin plastered against his chest .  But he can’t .  Not yet at least.

“So—I mean, yeah,” Dean gulps, “You’re right. Cas is right,” Hopping off the table and steadying himself while his vision swims for a second, Dean sidles up to Jack's chair. The kid pushes away the warm blankets, reaching up and wrapping lithe arms around the older boy’s waist, resting his head on Dean’s stomach. Dean cards a hand through Jack's hair just like Cas would do, smiling a little when the kid gives a happy grunt at the contact.

“Well…” Donna mutters .  When Dean glances over, he finds that Donna’s beaming smile is little more than a sad shadow now, and her eyes are also a little red like Charlie’s still are .  The doctor  doesn’t seem to have a follow up  sentence, so Dean  doesn’t see any harm in interrupting .  Besides, he  kinda needs them to stop looking at him like  he’s freaking Bambi if  doesn’t want the pebble in his throat to win out.

“So? Am I good?”

The doctor blinks at him twice before the words seem to register. The next second a shakier smile pulls up the corners of her cheeks. She clears her throat, and then her voice takes on its previous steady tone.

“Um, well, Dean,” she says, “You have a doozy of a concussion. And from what you told Charlie, if you’ve had a lot of concussions over the last several years, there’s a good chance you might have...permanent damage.”

For the eightieth time today, Dean wants to let it all go and bawl like a baby. If Cas was here to pet his hair and tell him he’s not gonna leave...well, he just might. 

Instead, Dean clenches his jaw to keep from letting the whimper clawing right behind his teeth.

“Y-Yeah?”

Donna’s face is kind still, but the smile is gone, “I’m sorry, Dean .  But I think so .  I’m going to refer you to another specialist in Kansas City for that .  He has more experience with long-term head trauma .  Otherwise, you have a few ribs that  I’m pretty sure are cracked, a lot of, uh, superficial marks, and. ..possible anal injuries .  Again,  I’d probably refer to a, uh, another specialist for that.”

White hot shame rips through Dean’s hollow chest, making his knees shake a little with its intensity. His eyes drop to the tiles now under his bare feet, the floor is as cold as the basement’s concrete.

“Oh.”

Of course she’d be able to figure it out .  She’s a doctor for fuck’s sake, of course  she’d know a torn-up asshole when she sees one . 

He shifts his feet but there’s no new twinges of pain. At least that probably means she didn’t shove her fingers in there to exam further while he was greyed out. Would she even do that? Can doctors do that without telling him?  Maybe she did  ask and he  didn’t respond so she decided not to do anything ?  But that  wouldn’t make sense .  It’s not  like his hole is sacred or something, and  she’s the adult so  she’s definitely got the right of way here .  Especially if he  didn’t even answer her back .  In any case,  he’s glad that  whether or not she got all up his business, at least there’s now new pain.

_ Just old pain. _

No way in Heaven or Hell is he gonna look her in the eyes now. Not when she knows what he’s been doing with Luc for the past however many years.

“But we can talk all about that later, when your parents arrive.”

Dean staggers back a step, vision dotting with black stops. Jack is holding onto him a little tighter and saying something that sounds like his name, but it’s thick like pillow stuffing in his ears. Dean doesn’t realize he’s actually falling back until two more pairs of hands are on him, holding him up.

_ Mom and Dad. _

His eyes are blurry when he blinks, more so than usual. It’s not until a bit of saltwater slips into his mouth that he even realizes he’s crying.

_ But no Sammy. _

Charlie and Donna are setting Dean in one the waiting chairs which is probably a good thing since he’s surprised his pansy-ass knees haven’t given out entirely yet. One of the toasty blankets is being wrapped around his shoulders and Jack is suddenly nestled in his lap again. The kid is shaking too, probably scared because Dean is spazzing out on him. Dean makes a cocoon around them, trying to control his stupid gaspy breathing and wishing for all the world that Cas was there, too.

_ I’ve still got Cas. And Jack. Even after Mom and Dad find out I killed Sammy and go back home without me—Cas will still love me. He’ll still tell me I’m not just some fucked-up excuse for a human being, ‘cause he actually believes that. He’ll still want to hug me and touch my cheeks like he likes. _

Dean’s not sure how long he has his head buried in Jack’s shoulder, the musty smell of the basement clinging to his clothes, or that he even buried his face there in the first place. When he sniffles and raises his eyes to the doctor and nurse, they’re patiently, if not confusedly waiting there still. And though Dean would rather die than meet either of their eyes, he manages to raise his gaze half of the way up. Looking between Charlie’s Batman pajamas and Donna’s white coat, Dean swallows.

“Okay,” his voice is steadier than  he’d expected .  Good,  maybe he can hold out a little longer.  Maybe he can hold out until they let him see Cas, “What’s next?”

  
  


** |||||||||||||||||||| **

  
  


The final bite of hospital pancakes is just as good as the first. It’s hot and gooey and sweet and  _ Heaven  _ on a plastic plate.

Jack hums happily as he  licks up the smears of syrup and sausage from his own meal. Dean chuckles and follows suit because why the fuck not? This is the best food  he’s had in years, why not lap up every crumb?

With a sigh, Dean collects their plates and shoves them to the side of the cart Garth had wheeled in with their food a little bit ago. Dean is just grateful that, after the whole thing with the doctor, everyone had decided it was a mighty good time to let him and Jack be by themselves to enjoy some peace and quiet with their breakfast. Lunch? What time is it? Dean shrugs to himself. Who cares?

He’s also beyond grateful that the arrival of their pancake meal had gotten Jack to stop crying .  It’d taken a fierce mantra of  _ He needs this _ _.  _ _ They need to make sure  _ _ he’s _ __ _ alright _ _. _ to stop Dean from tearing the doctor’s  hands off Jack as soon as the kid started wailing .  And it was only after  he’d gotten right in next to Jack's  blotchy little face and started murmuring “The Rain Song” against the kid’s clammy forehead that Jack had held still long enough for the doctor to finish up .  Even then pale hands had kept a white-knuckled grip on any inch of Dean that he could reach until it was all over . 

It’d fucking broken Dean’s heart to watch.

They’re in a small waiting room now, though. It’s cozy and there’s no one else here, which is probably because Garth and his steaming cup of coffee are standing guard on the other side of the door. For once, the whole locked room thing actually makes Dean feel safer instead of like a sardine in a can.

He’s in a recliner, except it’s got that smooth, plastic-y fabric that’s on the waiting chairs. The soft sweatpants and T-shirts they’d given each of them are warm from their body heat and smell nice like fresh laundry. Dean had forgotten about nice smells like clothes that have just come out of a dryer. And the clean smell of baby shampoo radiating off both of their bodies has a pleasant dizziness running through Dean’s veins. That combined with a full belly and the feel of his first shower in years still fresh on his skin has Dean practically melting back into his seat.

Pushing the cart to the side with the mess of their used dishes, Dean nudges Jack to sit a little more comfortably. Donna had given them new blankets after their showers, and even though their heat is fading, it still feels like they’re wrapped in fluffy clouds. Jack helps pull the blankets over them, making himself comfy all tucked up against Dean’s side. 

“Sweet dreams, buddy,” Dean chuckles, the kid’s cheek smushes on his collarbone, little lids already starting to slip closed. 

After pushing a long strand out of Jack’s face, Dean slings his arm over the kid’s back .  He’s just about to pop up the  footrest of the blessed chair, when  there’s a soft knock on the door .  Maybe Garth’s coming in to grab the cart?

The lights are dimmed in their waiting room, but that warm glow is suddenly breached by the weird, harsh hospital lights from the hallway. Garth pokes his head in, smile widening and eyes rounding out like he’s looking at a couple of snuggling kittens.

“Hey guys,” his voice is lower when he spots Jack, whose eyes are sleepily blinking back open, “Dean, you have some visitors.”

Then the scrawny cop is pushing the door open all the way, and Dean blinks. He blinks again, mind almost entirely blank.

It’s...his mom. 

And beside her is—

“S-Sammy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed!! I'm so happy they're free now, I've been so excited for this part <3   
> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you stick around for the next chapter!!


	13. "After Forever"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "After Forever" by Black Sabbath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all,  
> Just want to give you the heads up that there WON'T BE A NEW CHAPTER NEXT WEEK. This is finals week for me so I haven't had much chance/energy to write. Chapter 14 will be posted on Dec. 30 and the regular posting schedule will resume after that.  
> I hope you enjoy the holidays if you celebrate!  
> Take care,  
> Blue

Dean must be dead. That’s the only explanation. 

He feels dead, but also...alive? How does that work? Every nerve is on fire and he might throw up his kickass breakfast-lunch from how much his stomach is doing somersaults, but he’s also as frozen solid like a corpse. 

_That’s_ _not..._ _there’s_ _no fucking way…_

Dean’s standing up, and he’s not sure when that happened, but his body is kinda used to moving on autopilot by now. He’s not gonna complain since he’s pretty sure he’d still be glued to that recliner if he had to actually think in order for his limbs to cooperate. 

The most familiar people in the world also look like complete strangers. Mary’s blond and wavy hair, shorter than he remembers it being, falls over a sweater Dean knows the instant he sees it. It was a Mother’s Day gift he and Sammy got her one year. He didn’t even know that memory was still rattling around in his head after all these years, but it looks like today’s weird shit quota hasn’t been met yet. 

And Sammy. Jesus, fuck— 

“Y-You’re tall…” 

Dean doesn’t realize that all they’d been doing was standing there and staring at one another until his voice cracks the silence. Like a dam giving out, tears are spilling down his mom’s cheeks in an instant and both her and Sam are rushing in. 

Sam gets there first with his long-ass legs, in three strides Dean’s not-so-little brother is slamming into him, arms wrapping around Dean like a boa constrictor, “Oh my _god_ …Dee...” 

Pain from all the leftover bruises that are hidden under his t-shirt has dull throbs radiating across his body, but Dean can’t find two shits to give. He’ll take any pain that comes with this because his _fucking dead_ brother is in his _fucking arms_ right now. 

_Luc lied._

Sam is a gigantic squeezing mess and Dean is quickly catching up as the shock comes crumbling down. With Sam and his mom, who’s now got her arms circled around the both of them, Dean buries his head somewhere in his brother’s shoulder (Sam somehow even smells the same, too) and let’s a sob shake his whole body. 

“You’re-You’re al…” Dean can’t breathe. He can’t string anything close to sentence out of the mangled pile of his thoughts. 

_Sam’s alive_ _._ _Luc lied_ _._ _I’m_ free _._

“Baby, baby…” Mary is muttering in a wet, choked voice. Hands come up to cradle Dean’s burning face, his mom’s soft thumbs brushing away the tears under his eyes even as more trail down her own face. 

“M-Ma...?” 

Her light blue eyes are glassy and wide in the warm light of the room, but there’s so much love there Dean can’t look at it a second longer if he doesn’t want to melt into a giant puddle on the floor. Sam is holding up most of his weight as it is, and he’s sure he’s leaning on his baby brother even more when his mom starts kissing all over his face. Their wet cheeks and hitched voices make a beautiful intermixing mess between them. Dean doesn’t have the words to describe this. Scratch that, he doesn’t think there even _is_ a word for what he’s feeling right now. It’s mind-numbing and mind-flooding all at once. 

Sam lets out a bone-deep laugh that rumbles against Dean and steals his breath—yet again. 

_Alive_ _._ _Sammy’s alive._

The dimples, the cheesy grin, even the fucking floppy hair...it’s all still there. Just like Dean had left him. Well, not exactly the same, but Sammy is more the same than even what his memories had started to morph into over the years. 

Sammy’s smiling. Smiling and laughing and he’s actually happy to see Dean. For the life of him, Dean just quit staring. 

_My mom, my brother, my—_

“Where’s dad?” 

A weak whimper shatters through Dean’s messy brain, and he whips his head around, realizing that he’d actually walked a few feet from the chair and met his mom and Sammy halfway. The second whimper has Dean meeting huge grey eyes with tears brimming on Jack’s lower lashes. The kid is biting his bottom lip white, arms and blanket wrapped around him like a shield as he rocks back and forth in place. 

Dean pulls out of his family’s arms and is kneeling by the side of the recliner before he can blink. 

A corner of his brain registers the fact that, even though he apparently still has a concussion, he’s not nearly as dizzy making a sudden movement like that. Is it because he ate enough to feel totally full for the first time since he started growing hair on his legs? Was a full belly _all_ it would’ve taken _all_ this time? 

The little guy’s eyes fall to some spot on the industrial carpet like he doesn’t know if Dean wants him in the room or not. A shard of guilt pokes between Dean’s ribs. 

“Jack?” Dean pushes a fly-away hair out of the kid’s face, and Jack cautiously raises his eyes to look up from under dark lashes. Dean smiles and Jack's sudden caution seems to dissolve into nothing as he launches in to hug around Dean’s neck. 

“Don’t leave, don’t leave—” 

“I gotcha,” Dean smooths a hand over Jack's bony, T-shirted back and lets the kid sniffle into the crook of his neck, “It’s alright, buddy. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you alone like that, okay? I was just surprised is all.” 

Jack nods but keeps his face tucked where it is, arms still tight as ever, “O-Okay.” 

Dean lets a dip of silence fall in the small space between them. He hums just low enough to make his chest buzz against Jack’s, keeping himself firm and grounding before drawing Jack's face up to meet his eye, “I promise I’ll be right here, too. Alright? Besides…” Dean lets a loose smile tug at his lips, and he’s rewarded with a matching grin slowly washing away the tension in the kid’s features, “I’m not gonna leave my huckleberry, am I?” 

Jack bites his smiling lips and shakes his head, “No.” 

“That’s right. Not leaving you for nothing, got me?” 

“Got you,” Jack's gaze is bright as the sun before it fades into worry when his eyes glances over Dean’s shoulder. 

Following Jack’s eye to Sammy and Mary. They’re staring at him and Jack with moons for eyes and their mouths hanging slightly open. Jaws snapping shut, they’re eyes awkwardly scatter like they’ve been caught watching something they aren’t supposed to. Dean’s floating high, though, as he chuckles. 

“Come on,” Dean nods toward the pair, “how about we go meet ‘em?” 

Jack’s brow furrows, and Dean gives the kid a second to get his thoughts together. There’s no reason to hurry, and he’s a-okay with going slow for a little bit. 

The kid doesn’t tear his eyes off the two mystery guests but leans in to whisper to Dean. 

“Can you...carry me?” 

Dean huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes, scooping the kid up onto his hip. Jack’s almost too big to carry, but hell if he’s gonna deny the little guy this. Jack keeps his hands fisted in Dean’s shirt, and his temple resting on the older boy’s as they make their way over. Dean doesn’t give a fuck if this looks weird. 

Okay that’s not true. 

He kind of gives a fuck, but he’d rather face Sammy and his mom’s weird looks than set the kid off on another silent crying jag where he balls himself up in the fetal position because of something Dean did. Nuh-uh. Not happening. 

Mary’s eyes have a look in them Dean’s doesn’t ever remember seeing before. It’s soft but...proud, maybe? But that makes, like, zero sense, so Dean just opts to ignore it. 

“Guys, this is Jack,” Dean says, shifting the kid up a little higher on his hip and rubbing the scrawny arm where it’s pressed against him, hand still tightly balled-up in Dean’s tee. 

“Hello there, Jack,” Mary’s voice drips like honey and Dean feels warm all the way to his toes at the sound. She gives a little wave before her eyes turn back up to Dean’s. 

“We, uh…” Dean licks his lips, “Jack was there with me. Last half of the year anyway.” 

A new roll of tears spills down his mom’s cheeks and Dean can’t take that right now. He isn’t running on his full fours and he just—he can’t do it right now. Turning his body to Sammy, Dean gives his baby brother a smile that’s only half forced. The dude grew up adorable—though he’d probably be annoyed at getting called that—like some super tall, little kid. 

_Fuck...I missed him._

“H-Hi, Jack,” Sammy smiles, ducking his head a little to meet the kid’s eye. Jack, however, isn’t feeling it. At the sight of Sam, he squeaks and buries his face back in the crook of Dean’s neck. 

Dean frowns to himself, trying to suss out what’s wrong. 

“Jack?” He tries to look at Jack, but all he can gets is a dark blond curtain, “Buddy, it’s alright. It’s just Sammy.” 

Jack perks up a little at the name Dean’s sure he’s said a bunch of times and probably mumbled in his sleep just as often. The kid peeks one eye out but doesn’t move any closer. 

He didn’t talk to Jesse or Garth, sure, but then he talked to Donna and Charlie. But now not Sammy…? 

Jack's cautious gaze flickers over to Sam again as he leans into Dean, cupped hand concealing his words, “Is he...but he’s tall, too, Dean.” 

_Fuck_ _._ _Of course._

Dean’s chest clenches but he forces a reassuring smirk to his lips, “Nah, nah. No, kiddo. Sam ain’t anything like...like _him_ I promise. He might be a fucking moose now—” Dean’s grin settles a little more easily when he sees dimpled cheeks scrunching in a shy smile. Dean kinda might cry again. He clears his throat, “but he’s not gonna hurt you any. Hey...you know what? He and Cas are actually the same age. S-Seventeen?” 

Sammy nods. 

How did his baby brother get old enough to drive a car? Dean gulps. 

“Yeah?” Jack is still looking warily at Sammy, but at least he’s not trying to hide his face anymore. Sammy gives Jack another careful grin and Jack’s little fists loosen up on Dean’s poor shirt. 

“Yeah, kid,” Dean continues, “Sammy’s my little brother and that’s my mom,” Dean directs Jack's grey gaze to Mary. Her eyes are red still, but she gives an equally genuine smile to Jack, “and then—wait. Mom, where’d Dad go off to?” 

Mary’s smile floats away like it was never even there. A new sheen of tears forms in her eyes as she bites her lips. Sammy’s moppy hair falls forward as his hazel eyes search the ground. Dean’s stomach lurches. 

“Oh...baby,” His mom starts, gulping with a wet click. She takes a breath and Dean suddenly understands where he got his whole easily-putting-bad-thoughts-in-separate-boxes thing from. He can see the switch flip in her eyes to practiced calm. 

“Mom…?” 

“Dean,” her voice is too steady and makes the hairs on the make of his neck stand on end, “Honey...John passed away almost four years ago.” 

“He…” his mouth stays open but nothing else bubbles out. Honestly, Dean doesn’t even know where that sentence was headed in the first place. 

_I bet Cas would be able to read my mind and tell me what I was_ _gonna_ _say,_ Dean scoffs inside _,_ _there’s_ _gotta_ _be a mind to read in the first place, genius._

A new wave of goosebumps ripples across Dean’s skin and he’s lost track of how many times that’s happened today. Nothing else floats to the surface, but there should be words, right? He just found out his dad died for fucks’ sake. He’s gotta have something—anything to say to that. 

He doesn’t. 

“He drank himself to death,” Sammy murmurs, bitterness dripping from the words like a wound that will slowly bleed out its victim one drop at a time. 

“Sam!” Mary hisses, shooting the giant a side eye that’s more resigned than angry. 

“What?” Sammy bites back, a flush of anger starting to fill his cheeks, “It’s _true_.” 

“But you don’t have to say it.” 

“What do you want me to say?” His baby brother’s hands flap in his hoodie pockets, hazel eyes fixing on their mother’s equally stubborn gaze. 

“This is not the time—” her compacted voice rises in pitch. 

Sammy’s surprisingly deep voice starts rising to match, “He was gonna ask anyway. What? Are we supposed to lie?” 

“I just—” 

“Stop!” Dean barks, startling himself and just about everyone else if Sammy and Mom’s wide eyes are anything to go by. Jack, however, doesn’t seem to hear with his hands clamped over his ears and his face burrowed back down in the dip of Dean’s neck. Dean never thought he’d glare at his family the first time he saw them after a third of his life had passed, but that’s exactly what he does. He growls, too, which—whoa. His shoulders slump though when both Mom and Sammy’s faces go all guilty-puppy. That age old thing in his gut is rolling with anger and screaming to throw him and Jack in the corner and cover Jack's body with his own so he’s Luc’s punching bag and not the kid. 

_Luc is dead_ _._ _You’re_ _safe_ _._ _It’s_ _just yelling_ _._ _It’s_ _not even that_ _._ _Quit being stupid, no one’s gonna hurt you and Jack._

Pushing that squirmy feeling down deep, Dean directs his attention to Jack, “Hey, buddy,” he whispers, nudging Jack's head with the point of his nose. Little hands slowly draw away from his ears, but Jack doesn’t move to look up, “You’re alright, kiddo. The coast is clear, we’re all done with the loud noises. _Right_ , guys?” Dean flicks stern eyes up to his family. A guilty, mumbled litany of ‘yes,’ ‘of course’ and ‘sorry’ have Dean’s imaginary tail smoothing down, “See?” 

Jack glances back out again, eyes darting between all three. 

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Mary says softly, “We didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Sammy adds. 

“We promise no more fighting, okay?” 

With one more questioning look to Dean, and a soothing little pat to the kid’s bony back, Jack gives a little nod and relaxes back into Dean’s hold. 

“There we go,” Dean hums, cheek pressing to Jack’s crown, “There we go.” 

His eyes slip closed, rocking ever so slightly with Jack on his hip is weirdly soothing. Sure, Cas rocks Jack like this sometimes even if the kid is a fourth grader and not a baby, but he thinks he gets why now. It feels kinda nice for Dean, too. 

The room is silent for a moment and Dean never realized how just quiet the basement was until now. Even with him, Cas, and Jack all bunched up, there were lulls, pockets empty of voices that could last for hours. Dean likes all the new voices, sure...but he also doesn’t. How fucked up is that? 

“Ahem,” Sammy clears his throat and Dean’s eyes flutter open again, “W-Who’s Cas?” 

Dean’s stomach drops and feels his heart pick up pace again. 

_Way to go, asshole, you forgot about Cas again!_

“Cas,” Dean gasps, his muscles tighten again. It’d been an hour since he asked Garth for an update about Cas. Wasn’t he supposed to be out of surgery soon? Was he out now? “C-Cas was there, too. Uh, with m-me and Jack and he—” 

Dean can’t say it. He can hardly think about his best friend as the bloody, tangled mess he’d last seen on that black top—let alone fucking describe it. 

Jack clutches his t-shirt tighter, and Dean glances toward the closed honey-colored door. 

“Was he in the accident, too?” 

A weird part of his brain wants to laugh. That van sure as hell didn’t crash on accident. 

Dean doesn’t answer, brushing past and making a b-line for the door. With the arm not scooped up under Jack's butt, Dean reaches out and shimmies the metal handle, trying to push it open. It doesn’t open. Why the fuck won’t it open? Did they lock them in? Dean jerks the handle, trying to push. Did that fucking asshole— 

Suddenly the door clicks open...swinging inward with a crest of harsh hallway light. Garth’s smiling face pops in and Dean’s cheeks heat up. Oh. The door opens inward. 

_Whoops._

“Everything copacetic?” He asks. 

“Where’s Cas?” Dean’s decided he’s done with small talk today. He hasn’t had to make small talk like this in years and it’s goddamn exhausting at this point, “When can we see him?” 

Garth's smile dips a little in that annoying, pitying way. Dean purses his lips. If his time with Luc has taught him anything, though, it’s how to bite his tongue and not piss off the people he’s dependent upon. 

“Hold on one sec, I’ll go see if I can hunt down a nurse and ask.” 

Garth gives a small nod to his side and Dean assumes it’s directed at Jesse. The door swings shut again. Dean’s skin is nothing but itchy for the eternity the cop is gone. He narrows his eyes at the waiting room clock. 

_Like hell_ _it’s_ _only been five minutes._

When the door opens again, Garth is now flanked by another officer with an outfit that’s different than his but still undoubtedly a police uniform. 

Dean takes a step back. He hasn’t met this lady yet. 

She’s got eyes that are Sammy’s color and she’s only an inch shorter than Dean, but that little inch still makes Dean feel better. As they enter, she tucks a broad-brimmed hat under her arm, absently brushing a hand through short hair that matches her eyes. Her gaze lands on his mom and Sammy first, but slides right to Dean and Jack almost immediately. Her smile is warm like Dr. Hanscum’s had been, but there’s a toughness there that the doctor didn’t have. Dean can’t decide if that toughness makes him feel better or worse. 

“I’m Sheriff Jody Mills,” she says, a shadow of a smile like Cas has pulls at her lips, but her expression is soft as she meets each of their eyes—even Sammy’s. Directing her words to Mom she says, “We spoke on the phone.” 

“Yes, of course. Hello, Sheriff.” 

Sheriff Mills’ focus settles on Dean and Jack next, “Let me be the first to say: Welcome to Joplin, gentlemen.” 

“Please,” Dean ain’t too proud of the crack in his voice or the stinging in his eyes but he’s aching and he hasn’t slept in hours and he just needs to see Cas living and breathing now, “Is Cas okay? Did...Did he make it?” 

“Yes,” Sheriff Mills smiles, “Your friend is out of surgery and the doctors say everything went off without a hitch,” Dean’s eyes burn for a whole new reason now, and he exhales around a wet laugh. Then her smile dips a little bit, “That’s the good news.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“What’s the bad news?” Mary asks. 

The sheriff’s eyes fall on Jack. 

“We’re still having a hard time tracking down your mom, bub,” her voice is infinitely tender as she addresses Jack. Okay, maybe the toughness is probably on the safer side after all, “There’s a surprisingly large number of Kelly Klines in Kansas City. But we’re doing everything we can.” 

Jack whimpers a little and nudges his forehead under Dean’s chin. Everyone’s a little surprised—Dean included—when another soft whine is all the more response Jack gives. 

Pressing his mouth against the kid’s forehead he murmurs, “I gotcha, I gotcha,” even though he knows Jack wants his mom and not Dean. His stomach twinges. He fucking hate that he’s not enough. 

Jack squirms in Dean’s arms, pushing up to cup his hand around Dean’s ear again. He can’t help but chuckle at the message, turning his attention back up to the expectant eyes looking at them. 

“Jack also wants to know if we can see Cas now.” 

The sheriff huffs out a laugh, shaking her head as her smile grows, “Right this way, boys.” 

  
  


**||||||||||||||||||||**

  
  


Dean’s shaking. He has no clue why he’s shaking, he just...sort of is? It kinda feels like a good thing that he’s still carrying Jack as they make their way down the hospital’s wide halls. It gives him something to do other than fidget like a weirdo. He’s not nervous...but he also isn’t, and that’s just stupid. Above whatever underpinning anxiousness there is in his belly, Dean’s never been more...happy? Good lord, is this what happiness feels like? He’s about to see his best friend—the boy he loves more than just about anything under the sun, and they're fucking _free_. Free in a way Dean doesn’t remember being and he certainly never got experience with Cas. But now they get this. They actually get to have this. 

The walk is all over in the blink of an eye and all of a sudden, they are approaching another door made of the same light wood. Cas is on the other side of that door. 

Just as Sherrif Mills (with Dean less than a breath away on her heels) reaches up to knock, a short nurse with raven hair slips past. Dean tries to look past her but all he glimpses is a pale hospital blanket before the door closes behind her. He almost— _almost_ —whimpers. 

“Let me guess,” the nurse says in a voice that’s weird but smooth in Dean’s ears. He’s never heard anything like it, “you’d be the sheriff. They told me you were coming,” her smirking eyes slide to Dean, “and would be bringing friends.” 

Sheriff Mills gives a curt nod, “That’d be correct. Can we see Castiel?” 

The sound of Cas’s full name makes something weird prickle under Dean’s skin. He kinda forgot that there are other people on the planet who don’t call Cas, well... _Cas_. They all know him as ‘Castiel.’ Castiel the angel. Is Dean gonna have to start calling him ‘Castiel’ now that they’re not in the basement anymore? 

Dean snaps back from his thoughts when the nurse continues. He’s a little surprised to find her amused gaze on him. 

“He’s been asking about you,” her smirk gets almost invisibly softer when he eyes flit down to where Jack's head is resting on Dean’s shoulder. If not for the years of reading Cas’s micro expressions, Dean might never have caught it, “You too, shortstack. That’s what I’m here for, to fill you in on how our hero boy is doing—i.e., how not to accidentally break anything that just got fixed. So, here’s the skinny: avoid his whole right leg. That puppy’s all numb, stitched, and packed up from the surgery. Also, he has a lot of cuts and bruises...though not all are new, still take it easy.” 

“Is he awake now?” The sheriff asks. 

Dean hadn’t even thought about that. He’d just kinda...assumed. 

The nurses red lips kick up at the corners, “Oh yeah. When I said he was ‘asking’ about you two, I mean the minute his peepers opened he was mumbling up a storm. Hasn’t been quiet since.” 

Now that Dean remembers what actual sunshine on his skin feels like, he knows that it doesn’t even come close to the bright ball swooping in his stomach, “Heh.” 

“Heads up, though, he’s still a little groggy so don’t expect juggling and balloon animals,” the nurse turns to open the door, but spins back on second thought, “let’s start with just you two and the sheriff, alright? We don’t wanna overwhelm the poor lug.” 

Mary looks like she’s fit to argue, but Dean shuts that down in a second, “Okay.” 

He’s not thrilled about letting his mom and Sammy out of his sight now either—but nothing is weighing out over the need to see his best friend, his fucking _Cas_ , alive right now. 

“You all can wait out here.” 

“Y’know,” Sheriff Mills flashes Mom a kind smile, “why don’t I stick out here, too?” She gives Dean a nod, “I’m sure you three would appreciate a couple of minutes without someone breathing down your neck.” 

Dean grips Jack a little closer even though the kid is squirming to get a move on, he says, “Th-Thanks.” 

“We’ll be right out here if you need anything,” the sheriff nods. 

Dean’s legs start moving on autopilot, carrying him through the doorway as the nurse grins, stepping away as she pushes it open. 

He doesn’t even hear the click of it behind him because...there’s Cas. 

Brilliant blue eyes are staring at Dean, lips parted and Dean’s pretty sure he’s gaping like some dumbass fish too. 

“Ca…” his tongue feels numb and he can’t breathe in the best way possible. 

“Caaas!” Jack squeals, all high pitched and giggly, squirming down and out of Dean’s arms and launching himself at the bed. The little guy seems to screech to a slow at the last minute before he can ‘break anything that just got fixed.’ But he’s scrambling up the bed in .02 seconds, and Cas—would you look at that—Cas is crying, too. Jack burrows down into the pale (but less sickly-looking) arms that swallow him up. Those arms should be too weak to hold the kid like he does, to be able to scoop his little frame up almost into the older boy’s lap—but they’re not. Jack fits just right against Cas, and the sight only has a swelling wave of relief crashing through Dean’s chest. 

Dean’s eyes are blurring before he even gets his legs to start stumbling to the bedside. It’s been hours now since he felt this weird shivery brand of weak but, fuck, it shouldn’t surprise him that it’s Cas bringing him to his knees. And that’s just where he lands once his numb and flooded brain have carried him to the side of his friend’s hospital bed. Though Cas’s face is buried in the kid’s grown-out hair, his baby blues peek over the side, fixed on Dean’s own gaze. The sheen of yet unshed tears makes him seem otherworldly and that’s not a word Dean thought he’d ever use seriously. But Cas does, and he’s so beautiful Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away even if he wanted to. 

“De…” his friend’s voice is choked and the best goddamn sound to ever enter Dean’s fucked up head. A shaking slender hand falls from Jack’s curved spine, reaching out, missing, and reaching again for Dean. Fingers Dean missed more than he missed fresh air thread through his hair and a breath punches out of his lungs. Dean’s eyes fall shut and he has no idea what’s happening or why but he’s riding this roller coaster ‘til the end, whatever that might be. The slender fingers don’t so much run through his hair as twitch and grab like Cas doesn’t quite know what to do with himself either. Dean leans into the touch, humming when the warm palm attached to those fingers rests snuggly on his forehead. 

“Cas, I…” _missed you so much and I love you even more._

Dean gulps and suddenly those fingers are tugging more urgently. Dean’s eyes slide open to find Cas’s full face on display now, cheek still tucked up against Jack’s head. 

Cas’s lower lip wobbles, “De-I...Dean, please…” 

The pain of the tile under his knees finally registers in Dean’s mushy brain and he’s rising to his feet. His head dips down as soon as he nudges his ass part way onto the bed. Everything is sloppy and weirdly uncoordinated as he kisses Cas’s forehead, his temple, the corner of his eye, but he’s shaking too much to improve. 

“ _Cas_ ,” he hums against his friend’s warm skin. Slinging one arm over Jack and bringing the other up to cup Cas’s cheek, Dean holds his family. 

His friend’s breath is hot and stuttering against his own cheek. It takes Dean no more thought than it does to make his heart keep ticking to lean in and press a firm kiss to Cas’s mouth. Then it’s a rainstorm of kisses everywhere Dean can crane his neck to reach. Corner of lips that are more chapped than usual, soft tip of his nose, twice on the apples of his cheeks that are a healthy pink now. Dean’s whole life has gone from Hell to fucking Heaven in less than twenty-four hours, and if that’s not a reason to have a little faith, what is? 

Dean loses track of how many times he meets Cas’s lips, quick little pecks alternating with long ones like neither of them can decide if they want quantity or quality more. Hand slipping from cheek to smooth neck, Dean finally finds himself rubbing little circles over sharp shoulder blades where Cas’s hospital gown parts in the back. Warm puffs of breath fall in the dip of Dean’s throat, and when his eyes slip shut, it’s almost like they're falling asleep together again. 

Except they aren’t. They’re not in that rotting pit anymore. Dean’s somehow holding Jack and Cas while his mom, brother, and a sea of all the other humans are waiting for them not ten feet away. 

Dean presses his lips to the pink tip of his friend’s ear, sighing the breath he’s been holding for seven years, “We made it, Cas.” 

Cas shivers in Dean’s hold, a wet gulping sound Dean recognizes all too well buzzing against his skin. Even though there’s not an inch to spare, Dean pulls both Cas and Jack closer into his chest. 

“We—” Cas’s heavy voice settles low in Dean’s belly despite its crack, it feels warm and safe like nothing else he remembers, “W-We made it.” 

Dean chuckles and for once, he gives up the ghost and lets the stinging in his eyes win out. 

Burying his face in midnight hair, Dean breathes in the soft, familiar smell. With a wet chuckle, he says, “Yeah, buddy. He’s dead. It’s over.” 

Cas’s head shoots back, wide, red-rimmed eyes flash to Dean, “Luc…?” 

Dean nods way more frantically than he means to, but he’s surprised his brain is even working this well right now, so he cuts himself some slack. Pushing a sweaty lock of hair off Cas’s forehead, Dean doesn’t even try to stop himself from curling his friend back to his side in that clingy way he’d always feared would eventually push Cas away but hasn’t yet. Smile pressed to Cas’s temple, he murmurs, “Luc’s dead and we’re…” he can’t believe he gets to say this either, “We don’t gotta worry anymore, sweetheart.” 

There’s a soft knock on the door that shakes Dean out of his head—but at least it isn’t slamming steel. And it never will be again. 

Sheriff Mills pokes her soft eyes and smile in, “Just checking to make sure you boys are alright.” 

Cas looks up too, grip tightening a little at the sight of the officer he might not have met yet. Sheriff Mills’s eyes seem a little more observant than her smile might fool someone, gaze studying the little knot of bodies the three make up. Dean doesn’t really give a shit, though, because it’d take a fucking hurricane to tear him away from either Cas or Jack right now. He doesn’t even care enough to try to wipe away the wet streaks he can feel on his face. 

Suddenly a thought bursts through Dean’s brain and he spins his head back around to meet Cas’s very alive, blue eyes. 

He taps Cas’s shoulder like a damn puppy wanting attention, jerking back immediately when Cas winces, “Shit, sorry.” 

Cas gives a little “hngh” grunt of forgiveness when Dean lets his hand drop back to the safe territory of Cas’s neck. His friend’s grip loosens again as Dean’s fingers absently knead at the other boy's tight neck muscles. 

“Dude,” Dean beams brighter and more obnoxiously than the hospital hall lights, “There’s someone you gotta meet.” 

A gaze breezier than Dean can ever remember seeing meets his, so open despite every reason to be as closed off and asshole-ish as Dean. Fuck, he might love this dorky little guy a bit more. 

“Who?” 

Dean settles back a little, positioning themselves better so Cas can see the door even with Jack on his lap and Dean’s arm slung around his waist. 

The sheriff is still smiling at them and Dean sorta forgot she was there for a second. 

“Hey, Mom!” Dean laughs, glancing back and forth between Cas’s amused grin and the door as shuffling behind the door gets closer. His mom’s blonde head pokes into the room in the same way Sheriff Mills’s had before she too is scooting past into the little room that has a constant whiff of rubbing alcohol in the air. 

Mom is smiling at him...and then Sammy is following in behind her. The sight of his baby brother just _there_ and breathing with a bullet-free forehead takes Dean’s own breath away all over again. The hand Cas has on his knee tenses and Dean can feel—and damn near hear—the million and one questions Cas is trying to zap into his brain before he even turns to look and the guy. When he does however, he knows Cas has almost completed the puzzle before Dean’s even opened his mouth. 

He squeezes Cas’s waist a little closer. Even as he gestures towards his mom, Dean’s eyes never leave Cas’s, “Cas, this is M-Mary. Winchester—” 

Cas’s baby blues flash in recognition, gaze falling on his mom “Your mother.” 

His mom smiles, “It’s so nice to meet you, Cas.” 

Dean nods, but this time when he gestures, he can’t help looking at his brother or the stupid-ass grin spreading across his cheeks and almost making them hurt, “And this...this is Sammy.” 

His friend’s eyes snap to the moppy-haired, adorable kid to Mary’s left. Quickly, Cas’s eyes dart back and forth between Dean and Sammy, brows furrowing lower which only has Dean smiling wider. 

“But...I thought Luc…” 

Dean fucking beams like he’s celebrating ten Christmases all at once—only, this is even better. 

Biting his lip a little to keep the honest-to-God gigglein, Dean shakes his head. 

“I-I thought so, too,” Dean says, “but—Cas, dude, my baby brother is _alive_ a-and a goddamn _teenager_ now.” 

Dean’s smile must be infectious because suddenly Cas is smiling like a dumbass, too. Except, less dumb. Less ass. More pretty and just plain _awesome_ **_._ **

Wide blue pools stare up at Sammy, his mouth opens and closes without any words escaping. Once, twice. On the third try, Cas finally says, “H-Hello, Sammy.” 

Sammy’s drawn-up shoulders loosen a little, a shy dimpled smile lighting up his face. 

“Hey—Hi, Cas,” Sammy chuckles and smiles at the floor, “Just Sam is cool.” 

Cas’s lips twitch at one corner. Dean knows Cas is beaming inside, even if his face doesn’t show the whole story. 

“Hello, Sam.” 

Sam’s gaze suddenly snaps up from the tiled floor and looks straight at Dean, “Wait, ‘alive?’ You thought I was dead? What?” 

Dean’s chest squeezes and flutters and about a million other weird spasms he doesn’t quite know the origin of. Cas is still pressed right up against his side, and one of his best friend’s hands sneaks just under Dean’s shirt, making little soothing circles at the small of his back. His furrowed brow and bruised, beautiful face looks at Dean and waits for whatever he wants to tell Sammy. Maybe it’s the fucking landslide of a day, the fact that he’s running on no sleep and breakfast for dinner, or maybe it’s just that Dean can’t think of a single thing in the world that he wants that’s not right here in this room...but Dean doesn’t want to die anymore. 

The corners of his lips kick up as he looks between Sammy and Cas. The kicked-up corners grow into a smirk, a grin, until Dean’s smiling as bright as the fucking North Star. Cas’s tight features relax, and even Jack is matching Dean’s smile from where his head rests on Cas’s collarbone. 

“I—” Dean should be a whirlwind of mad-sad right now, but even the crystal-clear memory of Luc telling him about the awful shit he did to Sammy all those years ago feels numb and weird. It doesn’t make him wanna smack his head against the basement’s concrete floor until he cracks his skull in half like it used to...because Sammy is standing right in front of him. It was all a lie and—at least for a moment—the memory can’t lay a goddamn finger on him. He meets life-filled hazel eyes and says, “I’ll tell ya later, buddy. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

Cas startles then both, laughter bubbling from his somewhat scratchy throat. He claps a hand over his mouth like he just cussed or something, but even that can’t keep in the jittery laughter brightening his face and making his chest stutter against Jack’s head. It’s the kind of laugh that doesn’t break for even a second, and a dude can’t be blamed for pulling Cas’s hand away to show off that pretty smile to the room. Suddenly, Cas is swooping one arm around Dean’s shoulders with a bone-crushing squeeze that has Dean worried about Cas popping a stitch for the two seconds it lasts. He presses his smile into the crook of Dean’s neck, warm puffs of laughter sending happy little tingles across Dean’s skin. 

He kisses the side of his friend’s head, suddenly having all the fucks to give and reasons to want to keep kicking. 

When Cas rolls his head tiredly onto Dean’s shoulder to look up and meet his gaze, it almost feels like they’re themselves again—but, like, a fuck ton better at the same time. He just wants to tuck his sweet little angel under the covers and spoon him until they both conk out for the next twelve hours, maybe petting over one hand over Cas’s soft tummy if he lets Dean. 

Yeah, that’d be _awesome_. 

Whether Dean moves first or Cas it doesn’t really matter when they meet in the middle, Dean pressing a quick but reassuring kiss to pale pink lips. Cas is already sporting a sleepy flush that gets a shade deeper as his smile grows a tick wider when Dean draws back. Blue eyes are half-lidded and fighting back a droopiness Dean can more than sympathize with—hell, he’s getting so tired his bones are starting to ache like he’s ninety and not nineteen. 

He brushes a thumb over Cas’s stubbly cheek, chuckling a little since Cas seems to rest even more of his weight on Dean at the touch, “Long day, huh, big guy? Probably time—” 

“ _Ahem_.” 

Dean may be a little slow on the uptake right now, but his whole body tenses at the unfamiliar voice. Eyes tearing away from Cas, his gaze flashes to the door. 

A tall woman with hair lighter than his mom’s is standing sternly at the threshold. Both the way her hair is yanked up in some kind of bun-thing and the pursed set of her lips makes her skin look too tight for her face. Dean grips Cas a little closer, glancing at Sheriff Mills with wide eyes, hoping she’ll kick this lady right back out the door— 

“M-Mother?” 

Dean can literally _feel_ his eyebrows jump up his forehead, trying to catch up to information that would click easily on a normal day. He’s looking everywhere all at once. From the wide-eyed, open mouthed surprise and joy on Cas’s face to the slight softening of the woman’s features as her eyes drift lovingly over Cas. 

“ _Castiel_.” 

But then her eyes flicker over to Dean. The softness that was there a moment ago cracks into ice and, mushy brain or not, Dean’s not slow at all in picking up exactly what she’s putting down. A not-so-nice shiver runs down Dean’s spine. 

The door is pushed open wider as a red headed younger woman and a short-ish guy with light brown hair step in, flanking both of the blonde woman’s sides. 

“Anna? G-Gabe?” 

Cas squirms in place, lifting his head from Dean’s shoulder to see better. Dean lets the arm he has around Cas’s waist act as a counterweight to help Cas scoot himself to sit up all the way. He sets a hand on his friend’s chest when Cas sways a little. He doesn’t let his hand drop until Cas is steady. 

Bright smiles burst on all three of their faces, the redhead—Anna’s—hand shooting up to her mouth when tears instantly glisten her eyes like someone flicked a switch. The short-ish guy—Gabe—isn’t faring much better though he looks like he’s fighting to not let the tears win out. 

“Castiel!” 

“Hey, Cassie.” 

They beam in unison. Neither of their gazes look anywhere but Cas’s face for a good long minute, and even when they do flit over to Dean and all the other eyes on them there isn’t iciness but, instead, confusion. 

“Where’s Father?” Cas asks, neck craning ever so slightly to try to look out the door past them, “and Michael and Hannah whe…?” 

For a horrible, gut-churning moment Dean wonders if Cas’s dad died too, but the air rushes back into his longs as Anna smiles, “O-On their way. Father was on a business trip but he’s on a flight home right now, and Hannah is picking Michael up at KSU and I was already visiting, and Gabe lives as you know so we just…” 

Her sentence sputters to a halt, smile splitting even wider as she seems to realize she’s rambling. 

The blonde woman clears her throat again, hand anxiously soothing over the grey suit jacket she’s wearing. 

_Who the fuck wears a suit_ now _of all times?_

“I’d like to have a moment with my son,” she says, eyes laser focused on the sheriff now. 

Sheriff Mills blinks twice before pushing fully up to her feet since she’d slouched back against a wall next to Mom at somewhere along the way. 

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” she looks between everyone in the room for a second before setting the cap tucked under her arm back on her head, “Of course, Mrs. Shurley.” 

_Castiel Shurley_ _._ The name sounds weird but kinda smooth in Dean’s head. 

“Alone, please.” 

It takes another few seconds for Mrs. Shurley’s words and the raised brow the sheriff has aimed at Dean to click. 

_Oh_ _._

They’ve gotta leave now. He’s gotta leave Cas now. 

Sheriff Mills is looking warily at him which—okay, that’s fair considering that it took a couple cops to wrestle him to the ground last time they tried to separate him and Cas, and the sheriff probably heard about that. Dean feels all manner of sick about letting Cas out of his sight even if it’s just for a little while, but throwing a big tantrum again ain’t gonna help Cas. They’ll just drag him out anyhow and, honestly, he’s not sure his body has a tenth of the energy to pull that kind of stunt off without an adrenaline spike. Besides, he got a little one-on-one time with Mom and Sammy, Cas more than deserves the same with his real family. 

Turning his gaze back to his friend, Dean draws a smile back up to his lips. Cas’s eyes have gone frantic again despite the bloodshot sleepiness taking over. For whatever weird reason that also makes the butterflies in his stomach start up again, the fear in Cas’s eyes only makes Dean feel calmer—maybe not 100% calm, but getting there. 

Before Cas can open his mouth to protest, Dean draws him in for one last quick hug. 

“It’s alright, buddy,” his words are a little muffled against the fluffy dark hair he presses a kiss into. He chuckles, “We all gotta get some sleep, okay? But you, me, and Jack are all still under the same roof, even if we can’t see each other.” 

“Dean…” 

Cas’s voice cracks and Dean needs to leave before he really does have to be dragged away kicking and screaming. 

Forcing a chuckle, Dean dives in for one last mini kiss to his best friend’s cheek before he starts to rise to his feet. His backs of his eyes start to burn all over again when Cas’s grip on the back of his tee gets a little bit tighter before dropping away. 

Jack is a tougher sell, visibly burrowing in closer to Cas with his lip bitten and face hidden in Cas’s neck. 

“Come on, buddy,” Dean murmurs, patting the kid’s shoulder. 

When Jack looks up a new sheen of tears shines in grey eyes, screaming at Dean without any noise. The tears never slip down Jack's face even as he whimpers, starting to mumble, “N-No...don’t wanna...Mommy…” 

He holds on tight to Cas’s gown, almost pulling the thing off as Dean scoops under the kid’s armpits to pull him away. Jack must be pretty fucking tired too because his firm grip dissolves in a second, red eyes still glued to Cas even as Dean hefts Jack back up onto his hip. 

“Jack…” Cas’s voice nearly breaks Dean’s heart all over again, and it takes the last of his dwindling willpower not to turn right back around and kiss Cas until they’re all smiling and giggling again. 

He doesn’t dare even look over his shoulder until they’re at the door. He pauses, worrying at his lip before forcing a smile onto his lips. 

“See you tomorrow, Cas.” 

Even from this far away Dean can see Cas shaking. 

“P-Promise?” 

Dean’s smile twitches, “'Course, buddy.” 

A cold stone settles in the pit of his stomach as the sheriff closes the door, Mrs. Shurley’s cold gaze watching him the whole time. 

Dean feels like a liar...and he doesn’t know why. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! See you on the 30th <3


	14. "That's the Way"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "That's the Way" by Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallelujah 2020 is almost dead!  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

Dean wakes up with sun beams on his body that warm him up nice and toasty all the way down to his soul.

It takes a hot minute for Dean’s brain to sync up with the sensations all around him. Sunlight, clean sheets, dry air, the warm, squishy weight of a body pressed against his chest. Even the slight sting of that bleach-like smell the hospital seems to wear like cologne can’t touch the grin Dean’s wearing before he even opens his eyes. When his heavy lids finally do draw back and take in the room around him— _fuck_ , it’s a pretty sight.

In one of those recliners him and Jack had eaten their pancakes in, his mom is sprawled out, a hospital issued blanket tucked up to her waist and looking for all the world like she’s catching up on just as much sleep as Dean has been. There are more wrinkles on her face than Dean remembers, but he doesn’t remember a lot about her to begin with, so maybe she’s always looked this way. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel so weird his dad isn’t here, because it should feel weird, shouldn’t it? But he supposes it’s hard to miss a face you can’t picture. The warm feeling starts to fade and Dean’s not ready to think too hard about any of that shit just yet, so he shoves the thought aside again and focuses back on his mom. Her whole face is a little thinner, but the apples of her cheeks still make Dean’s stomach warm because he can easily picture them rising up in a playful smile as she lets him dip a finger in the spicy apple pie filling sitting on the counter.

Maybe he remembers more than he thought.

A loud snore toward the foot of the bed has Dean’s grin pushing so wide his cheeks are already sore in the best way. Sammy is a tangle of long limbs, long hair, and bunched clothing where he sleeps in a cot along the wall by Dean’s feet. Even from this far away, he can see the line of spit on his baby brother’s jaw. 

Dean might fucking cry he’s so happy.

He only stops staring, after God knows how long, when a bird flitting past the window catches in the corner of his eye. There are wide windows across from the hospital bed, big, beautiful rectangles of the morning’s blue sky. Dean just stares for a while. It feels nice. From up on whatever floor the room the hospital people had herded them to last night is on, Dean can see the tops of trees, the man-made mountains of a couple buildings. How many people are in those buildings? Are they there already, going to work like this is just a normal day? Is Dean gonna be one of those people someday? Years stacked on years from now, will he get to work in one of those fancy buildings like a real person? That also feels nice to think about, too.

What’s not so nice is the twinge below his belly that means it’s time to hit the can.

Dean stretches his legs first, sighing into that wonderful blooming burn before his muscles relax again.

_Hey, there’s no pain._

Dean blinks a little more into wakefulness. He stretches out again and, yeah, the pain’s all gone. Whatever were in those little pills they gave him before he clonked out must be fucking magic beans because Dean feels nothing but awesome.

His arms flex next, tightening then loosening around Jack’s little body and the sleep warm sweatshirt he’s still wearing that’s one size too big. Scooching back as smoothly as possible, Dean untangles himself from the kid’s octopus limbs. A pleasant chill climbs up the backs of his legs once his feet hit the cool floor, and it barely takes a second of dizziness before he’s right as rain again.

_Cool. I’m getting better at that._

His spine crackles as he reaches for the sky, standing on his tiptoes, and it feels almost as good as coming.

Dean adjusts himself then pads silently to the little bathroom near the closed door that leads out to the hallway. The small space feels kinda nice, like Dean’s the right size again. Even peeing feels better this morning somehow. And maybe that’s just because there isn’t a weird, discolored ring staining the toilet bowl that Dean has to look at while he does his business, just shiny whiteness. But who gives a fuck why—Dean just soaks it all in.

He shuffles back to the sink and gets a good sudsy lather going and damn that’s nice.

His eyes drift up to the mirror. He almost falls on his ass when he doesn’t recognize the wide-eyed reflection staring back.

_Whoa. Cas wasn’t kidding about the freckles, huh?_

There’s pale skin for miles that makes the freckles stand out a little more. In his head, he thought he was tanner than this, but it looks like a handful of years without sunlight really does a number on a guy. He thought his cheeks used to be more...full? Chubby? Not so damn hollow at least. Slow fingers rise to his jaw, there’s a scratch of whiskers, but those aren’t new and never get any longer than they already are. It’s still weird as fuck to not just feel them but see their reddish tinge for a change.

Yeah, Dean definitely doesn’t look twelve anymore. He looks...old. Like, adult-old. He knew, logically, that he would look older now because that’s how time works and you’d have to be an idiot not to realize that...but still. Maybe, well...maybe he just wasn’t quite ready—

A low whine and a few sniffles reach his ears. 

_Jack._

Dean slips out of the bathroom as quietly as he’d entered, swiping dark streaks down his shirt instead of taking the time to grab a paper towel. His steps speed up a little when he meets big, grey puppy eyes with the beginnings of tears making them shine.

Guilt prickles in his stomach but he forces a reassuring smile to his lips. Jack already has his arms untucked from the blanket and reaching out for Dean.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean whispers as he dips back into the bed, pulling the covers back up around them.

“Y-You—” Jack sniffles, worrying at his lower lip, “were gone.”

Dean grabs a corner of the blanket and brushes it over the tears that slip down when Jack blinks.

_I’m such an asshole._

“I’m sorry, I just had to go to the bathroom, kiddo.” 

Wrapping the little guy back up in his arms, Dean closes the remaining distance between them until Jack has his face squished between Dean’s pillow and neck. There’s only a hiccup or two more before Jack relaxes again, warm puffs of breath evening out where they fall on Dean’s collarbone. Dean makes slow circles over the kid’s shoulder blade, nudging his face into dark blonde hair that still smells like baby shampoo, “I gotcha, I gotcha. You don’t gotta worry anymore, okay?”

Dean chuckles when he feels a little peck of lips on the collar of his t-shirt and he doesn’t need to look down to feel Jack’s smile pressing into his skin.

“Yeah?”

“‘Course, dude,” Dean’s grin returns in spades and he knows exactly what gets the kid feeling better every time, “What? You don’t... _believe me!_ ” Jack lets out a peel of laughter when Dean wiggles his fingers along his ribs, easily keeping him from squirming all the way off the bed in the tickling onslaught, “I thought we were friends!” Dean welcomes the belly laugh that rolls through him, Jack’s giggles buzzing like lighting bugs against his chest.

“W-We...” another squeal tumbles from his gap-toothed grin, “We a-are, _Deeean_!”

Before Jack reaches hyperventilating territory, Dean eases off and Jack flops tiredly against his side again. Little bubbles of laughter pop between the sighs, and, yeah, this is happiness. This is the real deal.

Dean kinda forgot there were other people in the room—let alone that the racket they were making might just rouse them—until a movement tugs at his attention.

His mom’s eyes are clear, not a trace of sleep left as she glances between Dean and where Jack is grinning and squirming a little in the loop of Dean’s arms. How long has she been awake?

A rustle on Sammy’s cot has Dean glancing toward his brother. His long hair is a tornado but everything else about him seems totally relaxed as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

Even though he knows— _he knows_ —that it’s stupid, he can’t help it that his muscles tighten up a little now that him and Jack aren’t in their own bubble anymore.

“Heh,” Dean coughs, letting Jack move to sit up and lean against him. He finds himself meeting his mom’s eyes as he speaks, not totally sure why she’s got a little smile playing at her lips, “Didn’t mean to wake ya.”

“Already up,” she sits back a little more easily in her recliner.

“Oh,” Dean’s cheeks heat up a little and he can’t put a finger on why. It all just feels so weird. Not a bad weird, but just really fucking weird.

He doesn’t realize Jack has gone quiet again until a small grip tugs at his shirt. When he looks down Jack is already craning up to whisper something. 

“Why are they staring at us?” 

Dean’s lip quirks up, raising his eyes to his Mom and Sammy even as he directs his words to Jack.

“Well, bud. I think they’re staring at us because they’re happy to see us.”

Sammy’s eyes flit away at being caught, but Mom’s smile only grows.

She chuckles, “Dean is right, we’re very happy to see you. We…” the corners of her mouth slip down a little, eyes getting that glassy quality so quickly it kinda throws Dean for a loop. She clears her throat, “uh, we weren’t sure we’d ever get the chance again.”

When a rogue tear slips down Mom’s face before she can brush it away, the wrench in Dean’s stomach twists a little tighter.

“Please don’t cry,” Jack says, earnest eyes and all. 

_Looks like talking to people other is a baby-steps kinda thing. Okay, I can roll with that._

Jack leans back in and Dean doesn’t wait to be pulled down to press his face closer to the kid’s cupped hands.

His stomach loosens a little around a chuckle, eyes flashing up to Mom. 

Dean grins, matching the one he can hear in the kid’s voice even if he can’t see it, “Jack wants me to tell you that honeybees make beeswax from—how many? They make beeswax from eight ‘paired glands,” Jack settles back down, with new satisfaction, wriggling until his back is flush with Dean’s chest. When he doesn’t offer up the context himself, Dean rolls his eyes, chuckling he adds, “Jack really likes to listen to Cas’s bee facts. One of the ways we, uh, helped him calm down...y’know...before.”

Jack gives a little nod and a pleased hum, grabbing for Dean’s arm and looping it around himself.

A smile tugs at Dean’s cheeks again though he tries to cover it with a cough—he’s been smiling too damn much and he’s starting to look like a weirdo.

“This Cas sounds like a very special person,” Mary’s eyes are still glassy but take on a genuine brightness once again, “He really seemed to love you.”

Throat burning when he swallows, Dean drops his eyes down, fingers fidgeting with a strand of the kid’s hair, “Yeah...he does.”

Jack nods again, pulling Dean’s arm just a little closer.

The silence hums on after that. It’s not too bad to just sit in the quiet for a little while, soak up the morning and let himself drift through thoughts of a deep voice rumbling in his ear and the soft skin of Cas’s belly under his fingers. He blinks. Then the silence starts to prickle when his mom and brother’s schmoopy gazes are still stubbornly fixed on him. He doesn’t know what they’re looking for...he just hopes they aren’t looking deep enough to find all the nastiness. They don’t need to know any of that shit.

Dean clears his throat and wonders if it’s late enough in the morning for them to go see Cas yet. Before he can open his mouth to ask, Mary leans forward, eyes now on Jack.

“So, you and Cas liked to talk about bees,” her lips draw up playfully, “What did you and Dean like to do?”

A million and one images of the Playroom flash before Dean’s eyes. Raw skin, sweat dripping into his eyes, the wet _thap!_ of skin slapping skin, Jack’s little head thrashing side to side as he screams for Luc to get out of him—screams that are muffled by the tip of Dean’s dick. Just the tip. Their tears mixing together on Jack’s bulging cheek.

_Yeah, your little cock sure liked that, didn’t it, doll face?_

Ripping himself out of the hospital bed, Dean surges toward the bathroom. The weird grippy socks they gave him are the only reason Dean doesn’t slingshot right past the door, narrowly missing the light switch as he drops to his knees. In the hot second it takes him to get the toilet lid pulled, the first spasm in his stomach has acid shoving up his throat and out onto the tiles. By the second heave, he’s face-planted into the cavern of the toilet bowl. The blood pounding in his ears is only magnified by the echo of the ceramic. The world is blurry and bitter and it all fucking _sucks_ as the last of Dean’s awesome breakfast-lunch jumps ship.

Face numb and sore at the same time, Dean slumps away from his mess as soon as the waves of nausea taper down to little rolls. The world comes into focus again, and voices filter back into his cotton-stuffed brain.

“Dean? Baby, are you alright?”

Something blessedly cool is pressed to Dean’s forehead and he tears back from it.

He doesn’t deserve it. What he deserves to have his body feel as sick as his brain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He mumbles into his palms, “Didn’t wanna—never wanted to…”

A pathetic whimper falls from his lips even as he tries to cover his face. It’s dark and blank behind his closed eyelids, hands keeping all the eyes on him from seeing his scrawny rat face.

_Not gonna cry. Not gonna cry. Not gonna cry._

It’s better here, where he can’t see them as shame squeezes and chokes his neck like a snake. Tighter and tighter and tighter until his throat burns and he can’t breathe—

Another, smaller, hand pushes Dean’s sweaty hair off his forehead. Dean squirms away from the touch ‘cause this hurts even worse. The kid’s hand only follows his movement in phases like he expected Dean to be a twitchy motherfucker. Dean whimpers again and what the fuck is wrong with him? He’s just a stupid ball on the floor crying himself a river (definitely a river at this point). He should be the one comforting Jack, the other way around. Scratch that. Cas should comfort Jack, and Dean shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near either of them after everything he’s—

“ _The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands_ ,” The words are cool water, pouring over Dean’s overheated brain, washing through like only Zep can, “ _To fight the horde, sing and cry...Vanilla, I am coming…ah-ah...ah-ah..._ ” The kid’s voice is a little sleep scratchy still but it’s close and warms under Dean’s ribs, “I know you didn’t, but it’s okay. We can just wipe it up with a paper towel. We can clean it up,” still floating in the dark of his hands, a shoulder and hip settle in against his, leaning until a heavy head rests on his shoulder. Dean’s stomach gives an automatic squeeze but eases up after that. A little hand tugs on Dean’s wrist and he allows Jack to take that arm and hold it like a teddy bear. He knows he’s weak for this, selfish for wanting the kid to keep acting like Dean’s not a monster who Jack should be scared of, “Don’t feel bad. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Dean startles himself with a chuckle at hearing Cas’s words parroted back in Jack’s sure voice, “You were thinking so hard you made yourself throw up again, didn’t you?”

Not trusting his voice one iota, Dean nods.

“But you don’t need to think about anything that hard anymore, right? We don’t have to be scared since we’re in the hospital not...Luc...”

Dean’s eyes feel sticky and dry at the same time as they peel open. His gaze falls to the tile wall across from where he and Jack are leaning against the opposite wall next to the toilet and it’s a gross mess. If he had the strength to look up and meet his mom or brother’s eyes he would. But since his whole body is kind of achy now and his ass has gone numb against the hard floor, Dean only glances where their legs and socked feet stand awkwardly half in and half out of the little bathroom.

Shame slithers high in his belly, but he banishes all thoughts before it can slither up and choke him out again. 

Jack nuzzles against his shoulder and Dean lets out the breath he’d been holding, a laugh that’s more like a gasp punches out of him.

“Y-Yeah,” Lips are sour when he licks them, the shitty taste in his mouth grows more and more inescapable as the rest of him decides to calm the fuck down. He drops his own head to the side, resting right on top of Jack’s as they both stare at the wall, “Your singing’s gettin’ better.”

For a moment he doesn’t hear Luc’s bite-y words chomping up little pieces of him, just Robert belting it out about fields of green and overlords.

“Remember that we get to see Cas today?” Jack chirps, gap-toothed grin shining bright in his voice. God, Dean wishes his own stupid feelings could snap back like that.

He nods against Jack’s head, “Yeah, pal.”

“I’m excited. Are you excited, Dean?”

His heart stutters with an awesome-feeling little squeeze in his chest.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

**||||||||||||||||||||**

After his freak-out, a heavenly shower, and breakfast that actually stays in his stomach, Dean is almost vibrating. It’s just about late enough in the morning where they’ll probably let him visit Cas if the other boy is awake.

His mom had gone out and bought him some jeans and a t-shirt while he had eaten, and he feels like a million bucks to have actual pants on again. With Jack’s hand in his, fresh clothes, and a full belly, Dean leads his little family (and the new cop assigned to stick by them) down the hall to the elevators. He memorized exactly what room, and which floor his Cas is at because—duh. What if Dean needs to get to him? Total dumbass move to forget the important shit like that.

And, okay, maybe he’d more told the cop where they were going than asked if they could go see Cas, but Dean can’t honestly say he regrets it.

Every step takes forever until they're finally rounding the corner and—there it is. Cas’s door, slightly ajar.

With Jack damn near skipping to keep up, Dean moves right past the nurses’ station, sights fixed on Cas’s door. 

_He’s awake right? That’s what that means, isn’t it? He’s up now and we can see him and hear his voice and hug him and kiss his cheeks and—_

Before Dean can get any closer than a few feet from the honey-colored barrier standing between him and his best friend, a nurse pops up like she teleported, stepping right between him and the door. It’s not just any nurse though, it’s that dark-haired nurse again. This time Dean actually has the brain function to look at her nametag. Huh. She doesn’t look like a ‘Meg.’

Her petite body seems tight like she’s been tensing for hours. Her eyes are softer than they were the day before, but the expression looks kind of off on her features.

“Slow down, kiddo,” she says, and there’s so much less sass in her voice that it kinda catches Dean off guard. In an instant though, her words register, and Dean has to clench his jaw hard to keep from growling.

“I gotta seem ‘im,” he bites and it’s probably only the fact that he’s relatively well-rested that it doesn’t come out as a whine.

Meg’s brow is flat, stern, but she’s worrying her lip as she hesitates.

“I’m sorry,” her strung-tight body deflates a little and she crosses her hands across her chest. Eyes not meeting Dean’s, Meg says, “But ‘Mr. Shurley isn’t seeing visitors at this time.’” She sneers with a sharpness that’s directed at the tile floor.

Time sputters to a halt and so does Dean.

Cas…? Cas doesn’t want to see them?

“What? No! Of course he is,” Dean barks, only a sliver is guilt piercing all the hurt when he makes Jack startle and clutch his t-shirt.

Meg’s jaw clenches too but she doesn’t look angry just...sad? Angry-sad, maybe? Frankly, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about any of this—but the nurse is still standing between him and half of his sanity.

Nuh-uh. No. This doesn’t make any sense. He saw Cas yesterday. Cas was clutching at him like the world was gonna end, like he wanted to crawl right inside Dean’s rib cage and hide there forever. No fucking way that Cas just doesn’t want to see them. That can’t be it. Dean couldn’t ever breathe again if Cas just up and decided he’s better off without Dean...even if he maybe is.

“I’m sorry,” she grits again, widening her stance a little. Dean’s shoulders hike up and he finds his own legs widen to square off. If she thinks he’s just gonna back down from a fight she’s got another thing coming—he’s earned way worse bruises for way stupider reasons. Meg’s eyes have get considerably less soft, “You can’t go in there.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean drops Jack’s hand, taking a step closer, “You gonna stop me, sister?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—” Sheriff Mills is suddenly pushing between Dean and Meg, popping up from out of fucking nowhere and pressing her hand to Dean’s chest. Dean’s eyes are starting to burn and _shit shit shit_ he’s supposed to be angry not weepy. He can’t fight his way to Cas if he can’t even see through blurred-out, bawling eyes.

He staggers back a step and he can feel six hands reaching out to steady him. He shakes them all off and narrows his gaze at the sheriff.

“I gotta see him.”

His stomach is playing freaking tug of war between fear and blinding anger, making him want to throw crap through the walls and also curl up in a ball and die. 

But above all else—he just wants to be with his best friend again.

“I can’t let you do that, Dean,” The sheriff’s brown eyes are stern but just as mushy as they were yesterday. Maybe Dean could shove right past her—but his legs won’t bend.

“Why the f-fuck not?” He hates the crack that God, him, and everyone else loitering outside Cas’s door definitely heard. Maybe Cas heard it, too. Craning his head this way and that, Dean shouts, “Cas! Cas!”

“Keep your voice down!” Sheriff Mills and Meg hiss in unison but Dean doesn’t give a single fuck if he wakes up the whole goddamn city if it means his voice reaches Cas. They can all go to hell for all he cares.

“Cas! Ca- _auuww!_ ” A hand—the sheriff’s hand slaps over Dean’s mouth and the cop who’d been their look out comes to the sheriff’s side but withdraws his hands before they can reach Dean when Sheriff Mills gives a little shake of her head.

“We’re all gonna go into the other room and sit down while I explain what’s going on, alright?”

No. Not alright. Not unless Cas is somehow coming with them. 

The sheriff’s hand drops and Dean bites at his lip, the boiling in his belly drops to a simmering rage that’s just a breath away from collapsing into sobs.

“P-Please...I gotta…” Dean takes another step forward, but before either Sheriff Mills or the other cop can react, another arm is looping in front of his chest. Sammy’s broad shoulder presses into his, gently holding him back. 

Dean slumps a little against the Great Wall of Sammy as the curl-into-a-ball feeling starts to win out. 

Sammy’s voice is solid and warm as he murmurs, “We gotta go. Okay, Dean?” His arm remains strong as he slowly pulls Dean out of the sheriff’s face. Dean turns wide eyes up to find that his baby brother’s not a little tyke anymore—he’s almost a grown man. Almost a grown man and Dean missed out on all of it. His mouth opens and closes twice with only loose sounds falling out, no real words. Sammy’s face softens and he puts his hand over where souls in Dean’s chest, “Come on, Dee. Cas wouldn’t want you fighting and getting hurt, would he?”

Like a bucket of ice water sloshing over his head, all the fight rushes out of Dean and he once again lets the giant hold up most of his weight.

“N-No…”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Sammy reaffirms, keeping a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder and nudging him to turn away from the door. 

Every part or Dean screams shrill and terrifyingly to steamroll everyone and break down Cas’s fucking door if he has to...but more than one thing stops him. He’d have to push Sammy to get away and Dean would rather cut out his own kidney than hurt his brother even a little. Also, he’d never be able to get to Cas, he’d probably just get tackled to the ground like he did when they hauled his friend into that ambulance. 

And, well...maybe Cas really doesn’t want them in there after all. 

_Now you’re catching up, baby doll. He doesn’t need you to clean up his owies anymore, so what good are you? Maybe he liked your hands--but he didn’t like you._

He could do it. Dean could fight off everything and everybody in his way—but if Cas doesn’t want him anyway, what’s the point? Dean doesn’t want to find out.

With Sam’s arm around his shoulders and Jack squeezing his arm like he’s a teddy bear again, Dean follows the two officers wherever the hell it is they’re going. Just before they round the corner, Dean feels hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He looks over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of Mrs. Shurley poking her tight, solemn expression through the crack of the door before they round the corner, and she disappears from view.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Sheriff Mills flips around a chair, sitting backwards in it across from Dean. The room they’re in now is more like a conference room than a waiting room. Jesus, Dean forgot just how many different types of room there were outside of the basement.

He’s sitting in another chair that’s just like almost every chair he’s sat in for the last two days. Jack squirms to sit back in Dean’s lap a little more, rubbing a small fist over tired, blotchy eyes. The sheriff’s eyes scan over them quickly, cheek ticking before her gaze drops to the industrial carpet. It’s the first time Dean’s seen any nervousness from Sheriff Mills, and it has his stomach rolling a little. 

“Why—” Dean clears his throat when it cracks, “Why can’t we see him?”

The sheriff taps her foot twice, steeling her eyes, “Castiel’s family would like to spend some time with him—privately.”

_But...we’re his family._

“Uh…” Dean’s face is getting hot and his throat is tightening and it’s really fucking inconvenient because he’s gotta say _something_.

Jack perks up a little at this and Dean doesn’t need to see the squinty eyes and furrowed brow he’s leveling Sheriff Mills with right now to know it’s there, “When is it our turn to see Cas then?”

The sheriff’s eyes soften like they did last time she talked to Jack but there’s a tension tightening her jaw just below the surface. Dean’s pretty sure he’s not gonna like whatever the answer is.

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” her fingers play with the brim of her hat. Somewhere behind them Sammy makes an annoyed huffing sound that, despite everything else, still makes Dean’s body relax a little. 

_I still remember Sammy’s pissy huffs._

“Will they get to visit him today?” Mary asks.

Sheriff Mills glances her direction before her eyes fall back to her hat, “I don’t think so, no. The Shurleys would like their ‘privacy.’ Mrs. Shurley was very…” Dean can almost hear the sheriff’s teeth grind from here, “ _adamant_ about that.”

“But…” Dean’s tongue is heavy in his mouth and his brain is way too fucking blank for how many thoughts are screaming through his head.

“They don’t want Castiel to have anymore visitors for the rest of the time he’s here,” Sheriff Mills’s gentle brown eyes are so much sadder than her voice and Dean can’t look at her anymore, “Including you two. I’m very sorry.”

Dean’s gonna throw up. And then he’s gonna die. He’s gonna throw up his oatmeal and then he’s gonna close his eyes and wait for the sweet release of death. Maybe he didn’t want to die yesterday, but yesterday he had all his favorite people in one room and Cas’s warm breath on his neck. Things change out here, apparently.

“W-We can’t see Cas anymore?” Jack’s breath hitches and starts coming fast, faster than Dean’s okay with. 

His thoughts snap off and he shifts the kid around to face him. Jack’s face is a weird, faint-y white that makes Dean’s skin crawl. Rubbing over goose bumped arms, Dean tucks Jack in a little closer. Words pressed into dark blond hair, he murmurs, “Hey, hey, hey. You’re okay. It’s alright.”

A whimper is muffled in Dean’s shoulder but at least the little tremors in the kid’s limbs are tamping back down the longer his fists clutch Dean’s stretched out tee. 

“I have something else I need to tell you,” When Dean looks back over at the sheriff...she’s only looking at Jack. Her own eyes are just inching towards red and it’s scaring the shit out of him. Dean rubs the kid’s back a little to get his attention, and there’s only a few wet marks on the cotton when Jack pulls his face away with a hiccup. Sheriff Mills glances behind them where Sammy and his mom are, but after a second of thinking seems to decide that they can stick around for whatever hell on Earth she’s about to rain down upon them. She clears her throat, “It’s about your mom, Jack.”

“Mommy?”

Dean already knows what’s coming, thinks he should’ve seen it coming a mile away with every other shitty thing in their lives. But the little bob of the sheriff’s throat and the white-knuckled grip she has on her hat don’t leave any more doubt in his mind.

“Your mom...she was killed,” Sheriff Mills’s voice is barely above a whisper, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

There’s a beat of silence and Jack only squints.

“No. No, she’s…” The kid’s voice is weirdly steady, but the tremors have started back up. In seconds he’s shaking harder than Dean’s ever seen, “She’s not—she’s not…”

But the sheriff is nodding, and Mary sniffles somewhere behind them. Sheriff Mills’s gaze shifts up to Dean, and he’s pretty sure it’s because she can’t look at Jack anymore, “It took a little while for the records to transfer but…” the sheriff sighs, “During the home invasion, Nick Lucien also killed Ms. Kline. You said in your statement that you thought cops came to Lucien’s door a little bit before your escape. He got...messy, which is why he was questioned by officers in the first place. Lucien was a person of interest in Jack and Kelly’s disappearance. They just didn’t dream that he’d...”

Dean has a couple dozen questions rolling around in his mind like scattered marbles. _Was Jack taken in a home invasion? Is that how Jack ended up in the basement? How did Jack not know? Did he just forget like the shit ton of important things I’ve forgotten over the last seven years? And—Luc’s real name was fucking ‘_ Nick _?’_

All of that takes a back seat, though, when Jack’s vibrating, rigid little body starts to spasm. His breaths are sharp and way too quick to actually be feeding his brain any oxygen. 

Jack’s only lost his shit like this a few times. The last time Dean can remember it happening was after Luc wanted some alone time with Jack in the Playroom. Cas had been the one to help him calm down enough to let Dean clean up Luc’s mess before the kid conked out for the night. Dean remembers that better than he remembers his own middle name.

Pushing up to his feet, Dean hoists Jack a little higher into his arms. The kid is wrapped tight around himself, hugging his own ribs and not making any move to grab onto Dean like he usually would. Panic blares in his ears but he can’t freak out if he wants Jack to stop freaking out. He’s gotta be as calm and cool as Cas would be. Fuck, he wishes Cas were here.

The kid is heavier than he looks, but still light enough for Dean to get away with only having one arm under his little butt and the other hand making small circles over trembling shoulder blades.

“Shh, shhh, I’m so sorry, buddy. I’m so sorry,” Dean murmurs right against Jack’s ear, hoping his words can slip through the cracks of whatever walls Jack’s brain is throwing up to protect itself. Starting up a slow walk from one side of the small room and back, Dean mumbles, “ _Believe it or not, I'm walkin' on a-aair, I never thought I could feel so free-ee-ee…_ ” The song wasn’t one Dean had ever heard before he met Cas, and the other boy never said how he knew it. It’s nice though, kind reminds Dean of his Robert. He bounces a little as he paces and hums, another thing that Cas used to do to calm Jack down. Hell if he knows why it works, but it does, and that’s all that matters, “ _Flyin' away on a wing and a prayer...Who could it beee? Believe it or not it's just me...Believe it or not it’s just meee…”_

Each of the three pairs of eyes on them are digging little pins into his side with their sharpness. He’d squirm and maybe snap at them, but Jack’s arms are starting to loosen and that scary, disappear-into-himself silence dissolves into quiet tears. Finally, small arms come up to wrap around him and Jack’s wet face buries down in the crook of his neck right where it belongs. Dean lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

It’s a long minute before Dean slows their pacing down to a stop and looks firmly back at their audience. Sammy and the sheriff quickly avert their eyes like they weren’t staring—as if Dean didn’t feel their gazes the whole damn time—but Mary doesn’t. She unabashedly stares at the weird-ass sight they must make, but even when Dean narrows his eyes at her—daring her to give him an excuse to yell and scream all the shit bubbling up in his chest—but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she’s wearing that weird glowy, proud thing in her eyes that she’d had when Dean first introduced them to Jack.

Shoulders relaxing a little more, Dean massages the bridge of his nose, “So, um…” his stomach flops around like fuck, but he’s gotta ask, “Is—Does, uh, does Jack have a grandma or somebody who’s gonna…?”

When the sheriff’s eyes darken even more and Dean is so fucking done with today, and it’s not even noon.

“Um, no,” the sheriff sighs and Dean wants to punch her. To be fair though, he kinda feels like punching everyone right now. He drops his gaze to the hand he’s got steady around the kid’s little frame, “Kelly Kline was an only child. Her father passed before Jack was even born and her mother is in Kansas City, but...she is late-stage Alzheimer’s. They’re not even sure she understands that Kelly is gone.”

Dean’s throat tightens.

“And Jack’s dad?” He already knows the answer to this one, too.

The sheriff scratches the back of her neck, “Kelly’s the only parent on Jack’s birth certificate.”

Knots redouble in Dean’s stomach, blood starting to crackle in his veins as the fear morphs into anger.

“So, what the fuck is he supposed to do, huh?” Dean bites, Jack whimpers but Dean can’t reel much of anything in yet, “He’s just been through a hell you can’t even fucking imagine, his mom dies, and—what? He’s just supposed to fuck off into the wind? _What?_ ”

This doesn’t get the rise out of the sheriff he’d expected (hoped) he’d get. Instead that droopy, pity thing floods her face again.

“We’ll keep searching to see if Kelly has a cousin or someone else willing to take Jack in, otherwise…” Sheriff Mills deeply exhales, “otherwise Jack will have to go into foster care.”

Her eyes slide shut like the answer makes her feel exhausted, but Dean’s not exhausted. He’s _pissed_.

“Foster care?” he growls, “Are you shitting me?”

Jack’s head and veiny eyes pop up in surprise, his arms draw Dean in even closer until his cheek squishes against Dean’s neck, “Dean will come with me, right?”

The sheriff’s mouth opens once, twice before she gives up and can only shake her head at the puppy eyes that could bring anyone with a soul to their knees.

Dean’s chest might fucking cave in on itself if he can’t fix this this somehow, there’s got to be something he can—

Jack starts shaking again and Dean’s had enough of this bullshit for one lifetime.

“Nope, nuh-uh,” Dean hitches Jack up on his hip, brain racing a mile a minute to figure out the best way for them to get outta this goddamn hospital and into some fresh air. He’ll kick all their asses if he has to, he doesn’t give a shit. They’ll have to taser him before they rip Jack out of his arms.

_I let my guard down, and now they’re taking Cas. Fuck if I’m gonna let them bend me over and fuck me without a fight this time._

“Dea—” sheriff starts.

“Not happening,” his grip on Jack tightens as another sob shivers down the kid’s body, “Do you know what Luc did to him? He can never be a kid again! That sick fuck kept him in a goddamn _sex dungeon_ —” all three wince but Dean isn’t even close to sorry, “and you want to send him off to live with strangers? Forget it. No fucking way. Jack’s not leaving my sight.”

“Dean,” the sheriff starts, voice just this side of talking down to him. His skin is practically buzzing, “I’m sorry but you don’t have a choice—”

“Like hell I don’t—”

“Dean…” Mary’s own voice lilts down like she’s talking to a two-year-old when Dean knows she’d cry her eyes if she knew half the things that he done with Luc in the last seven years.

“ _No,_ ” he grits, raising his shoulders a little and shifting his stance. His eyes flash between the sheriff and his mom, “You try to take him away from me, you’ll never see either of us again. Do you understand?”

“We’re not going to let you run away with Jack,” the sheriff is rising to her feet now and that’s the wrong move, partner. 

Dean _hates_ being cornered.

“I don’t give a shit what you’re gonna ‘let’ me do,” Jack holds on tighter to Dean’s shoulder and he tries to draw as much energy from the little guy as he can, “I’ve survived worse than you, Sheriff, so you’re gonna have to shoot me if you want to take Jack anywhere without me.”

Dean isn’t even bluffing. He’d rather die than go back with Sammy and Mom and never know what happened to Cas or Jack. Hell, he’d probably just off himself after a week of waking up from nightmares and knowing Jack and Cas were out there somewhere screaming themselves awake, too.

“I’m not gonna shoot you, Dean, because you’re going to calm down.” 

“Fuck you!”

Dean’s trying to call up the layout of the hallways. Were there any fire exits? Hidden stairwells? How fast can he run while holding Jack? Maybe he could blast past the Shurleys and yank Cas out of here, too—

“ _Us_ ,” Sammy blurts, wide eyes snapping up to his brother. Dean freezes but doesn’t take his eyes off the sheriff, “We’re missing the obvious, guys. Jack can just come live with us. Yeah—Jesus. Jack can just live with us while you look for Kelly’s cousin or whatever and…” Sammy huffs a half incredulous, half hysterical little breath, “then you don’t have to shoot my stupid brother and Jack doesn’t have to live with strangers. There. How about that?”

The air feels like a thick blanket pulling down on Dean’s shoulders, but slowly...slowly, the sheriff’s hand drops away from where it had been inching back to her holster. Mary takes a step back from where she’d risen from her own chair, and the whole thing reminds Dean of a cowboy standoff—though he’s not sure where he would’ve seen one.

It’s Jack’s low whine that breaks Dean’s gaze away and his eyes fall to tear-filled little saucers. Jack has a vice grip on his shirt and hiccups as a cry, “D-Don’t get shot, Dean! I’ll go to faucet care...Please—don’t wanna lose you, too…”

The fire snuffs out of Dean just like that.

“No, no, I’m not going anywhere. C’mere,” Dean must have a Jack-sized groove in the dip of his shoulder by now. His ribs are still squeezing like it’s nobody’s business, but he hugs tighter than he probably should considering they were in a car accident, like, yesterday. But if Jack minds, he doesn’t make a peep about it, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve said that—”

“I’m not going to shoot him, Jack,” the sheriff says gently. 

Dean only partially believes her.

“I was just angry and being a dumbass, okay? Just—” Dean clears his throat, “Just got scared, is all. We’re all good, bud. I’m right here.”

Eyes flitting back up to the mom and Sheriff Mills, Dean sighs, Jack’s weight feeling even heavier than it had a moment ago.

“That—We can do that, right?” He asks, “Jack can stay with me?”

The silence that follows rings in Dean’s ears, only the soft huff of Jack’s breath so close by keeping him from climbing the fucking walls all over again. Mary looks at the sheriff, then to Sammy. Sammy looks between Jack and his mom. The sheriff looks between Sammy and Mary for the final say. And Dean is about ready to pull his goddamn hair out—

Then Mary nods and Dean has to sit back down in the waiting chair for a hot second until his knees aren’t so wobbly.

“Alright...I’ll go figure out the paperwork then.”

**||||||||||||||||||||**

It’s time.

The leg doctor—whatever that’s called—was the last box to check, and now that he and his weirdly warm hands are gone...that’s it. All the nurses and cops and all the other fuckers Dean lost track of long ago are done with him and Jack for now. Charlie’s just gotta get their discharge shit in order then they’re off to Kansas.

They’re going home today. _Today_. The thought makes Dean ungodly happy and unbelievably sick to think about.

_Home._

Is it still gonna feel like home? Without his Dad there? Don’t even get him fucking started on how weirdly numb his brain still is to that fact. Will it still feel like home with Jack and all the memories of the basement riding shotgun? Can it even be home if Cas isn’t there, too?

It’s that last little question that buzzes around Dean’s very exhausted, very over-stretched brain like a gnat caught in a fishbowl. 

It’s what has Dean’s stomach doing painful twisty stuff when he sees Cas’s brother in the cafeteria. 

“Uh—shit, somebody hand me a pen.”

It’s the driving force behind Dean, pen in hand, as he abandons the table by the windows that he, Jack, his family, and the cop eagle-eyeing over them in favor of making a b-line to the condiment island along the opposite wall. 

He can hear Jack let out a little squeak at the loss of Dean by his side, but this is important godammit—and this might be his last shot.

In the blink of an eye, Dean’s stepping up to the short man with the long-ish, light brown hair.

“It’s Gabe, right?” 

The dude jumps a little, a flash of surprise flitting across his eyes before it’s schooled back. The man sets the two trays he’s holding, stacked high with what must be at least a couple full meals, back down on the island. He turns his whole body to face Dean, a little defensiveness tightening his shoulders but a certain softness to his face that is 100% Cas. Dean’s heart squeezes.

“That’s me, yeah.”

Dean sticks out the hand with a napkin fisted in it, digits and address scrawled in his shitty handwriting—made even shittier simply by virtue of trying to quickly write on a napkin.

“I—” Okay, so maybe Dean didn’t think through much past this point, but hell if his improvising skills haven’t gotten him out of worse jams before. He licks his lips and meets Gabe’s gaze without flinching, “We need you to give this to Cas,” he glances back toward the table, to Jack who hasn’t quite lost that wide-eyed, out-of-it look even two days topside. Gabe arches a brow when Dean meets his eyes again. Dean fidgets, the plastic hospital bracelet spinning on his wrist. He sighs, “ _I_ need you to give this to Cas.”

Gabe takes the folded napkin from him, giving the scrawl an unsurprised glance before folding it out to Dean again, “Look, man—” 

Dean already knows where this is headed, whatever road Gabe decides to take so he cuts him off. 

“You don’t understand,” Dean is trying for fierce, but it comes out as a weird huffy laugh directed at the floor, “No one does,” Gabe looks like he’s gonna speak again but if he does, he won’t give Cas the phone number. He’ll find some nice way to break it to Dean, then throw the napkin in the trash as soon as he’s out of sight. Dean can’t live with that—he’s gotta _make_ Gabe understand, “When Cas first got there, he didn’t say two words to me after he, uh, found out what Luc was keeping us for. But, um, I didn’t care. It’d just been me and Luc for three years and suddenly there was this living, breathing, human dude—another kid…” Dean gulps, “with a heart beating not five feet from me 24/7. For a while, I thought I’d finally lost it,” the thought makes him hiccup a chuckle and he probably sounds like a crazy person the more weird noises escape his tightening throat, “I thought I’d wake up one day and realize I’d dreamt the whole damn thing.

“But...that didn’t happen. Cas was—he the most living, breathing-ist thing on the planet. And after a while, once he started opening his mouth, I found out he’s also the nicest, smartest—fucking awesomest person on the planet, too. And the first time I heard him laugh…” he grins at the floor even if it’s a little wobbly, “Cas fucking saved me, dude. And he deserves a million times better than the fucked-up shit Luc—” Dean swallows down the words. If Cas wants to tell his family what happened he’ll do it himself, in his own Cas-y way, “He deserves to be happy now. And, heh,” Dean rubs the back of his neck, heat rising to his cheeks, “he certainly doesn’t deserve to be saddled with some dumb fuck like me...but he says he loves me. And I wanna believe him, so I’m gonna believe him because, well—I love him, too,” Dean’s throat clicks, and the backs of his eyes sting. This’s gotta work. He _needs_ it to work, “So please... _please._ I need to know he’s okay from time to time. I need to hear his voice if I can’t see his face.” 

Gabe’s brow is still furrowed and fuck he’s never gonna see Cas again is he? Gabe is gonna refuse and walk out the door and Cas will disappear forever. 

_I can’t--I can’t live with that. Understand, goddamit. I need you to understand how much I love him. How much I need to know he’s okay._

Dean drops to his knees and Gabe’s eyes go wide and nervous, glancing around at the few onlookers starting to pay attention. Dean can only picture dark hair and baby blues peering down at him, carding through his hair and letting Dean’s face rest against his warm belly. He’s never been on his knees for anyone other than Luc, and even though the sharp heat of shame is snaking up from his toes, it’s nothing compared to the blinding panic of never seeing Cas again. Holding Gabe’s fist and the scrunched napkin between his two hands, Dean says, “I’m begging you, man. P-Promise me you’ll give him this.”

Dean hopes he’s not imagining the redness starting to tinge the edges of Gabe’s eyes, but he very well could be.

Clearing his throat, Gabe takes a step back and glances around, “Come on, kid, stand up.”

Dean does as he’s told. The guy’s shoulders bunch up as he stuffs his hands in his jacket pocket, the napkin disappearing along with them. A little vine of hope pushes through the cracks.

“So, will you?”

Gabe fidgets a few more seconds. Rolling his eyes, he gives a defeated sigh, “Yeah, fine. I’ll pass it on.”

He won’t look Dean in the eyes as he gathers up his two trays and heads for the cafeteria doors, but Dean doesn’t miss the little over-the-shoulder glance Gabe gives him before disappearing around the corner.

It’s out of Dean’s hands now and that’s scarier than anything he’s felt since he saw the smear of Cas’s body on the asphalt. Either he gets to tell Cas he loves him one more time...or that napkin just dropped into an empty takeout box next to a moldy banana peel in a trashcan somewhere Cas will never see it. 

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Sunlight radiates through the windows of the minivan, reflecting against the many stories of windows of the hospital in front of them like a glass castle in the sky.

Cas is behind one of those windows.

Jack tucks in a little closer to Dean, as close as the seat belt will let him anyway. He’s looking at the hospital, too, and it doesn’t take their weird mind-reading thing to know the kid is missing Cas, too.

As Mary pulls out of the little drive and onward toward the freeway exit, the hospital drifts farther into the distance.

“Goodbye, sunshine.”

They round a corner and the glass castle—along with the wounded angel inside—slips out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! The normal Wednesday posting schedule is resuming ;)


	15. "Stranger Stranger"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Stranger Stranger" by Bad Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! So this week's chapter is a little on the short side (not by much though), but I hope you still enjoy it! Also, I realized that I had to split one of the chapters in two, so I am adding one more to the count. However, the last two chapters will be released at the same time since Chapter 21 is actually the epilogue.  
> Getting down to the home stretch :)  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

The world is a blur of tan, brown, and green outside the car windows the whole ride back to Kansas, back to Lawrence. Dean doesn’t say a word the whole time. He can barely breathe.

Shadows start to sweep wide and low as the minutes on the dashboard clock tick by, deep blue soaking into glassy sky at the edges. Dean hasn’t seen a sunset in a long time, it’s all sweet and soft and flushed pink like Cas’s chest gets if Dean’s been kissing him for a while. It makes Dean sad but also sits comfortably in his chest next to a zillion other good memories of Cas—the ones he chooses to remember.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Even in the dark, Dean can feel that they’re getting close. Nothing has him slapping the back of the chair in front of him shouting _‘Oh I recognize that! That, too! I know where we are!’_ But everything has a quiet familiarity to it, like putting on a sweatshirt he just took off an hour ago—still warm with his own heat and sitting on his body the right way. Roads wind and twist but Dean could almost walk the way. They’re driving an invisible path that he’s more than a little restless to see the end of.

“We’re home.”

Before the words even leave Mary’s mouth Dean already knows. He knows exactly where they are, which house is theirs, and that Mary will have to slow way down before turning into the driveway so the front bumper doesn’t scrape the sloped pavement. If Dean thought the ride was surreal, he’s fucking floating somewhere above himself now.

Jack squirms awake where he’s leaned against Dean’s shoulder, grey eyes wide and panicked before dulling back down when he seems to remember where he is. Maybe he should be more stressed about how much longer Jack has been sleeping than before, but he figures the kid’s brain is just about as shot as his own. The kid’s eyes fall shut again, and he nuzzles his cheek against Dean’s shoulder, breaths falling slow and even again almost immediately.

“Come on, buddy,” Dean murmurs, rearranging Jack’s sweatshirt where it got all twisted up in his sleep. He chuckles when Jack only grunts in response, “And Cas says _I_ sleep like a bear. Promise you can sleep all you want inside but I can’t carry you in. My arms are killing me, dude.”

Jack blinks lazily but pulls away, pink indented wrinkles on his cheek, and Dean immediately misses the warmth. Hopping out of the car, he turns to try to coax the kid the rest of the way. Dean’s not sure why he’s having such a hard time keeping anyone who’s not Jack (or Cas) on his radar, but he nearly jumps out of his skin when Sammy is suddenly at his elbow and poking his head around the open car door.

“I can carry you in if you’re too sleepy, Jack,” Sammy says it all light and nice and Dean might cry for no goddamn reason again if he thinks too much about it.

Jack squints his eyes a little warily at Sam but doesn’t freak out like Dean would half expect at this point. Maybe the little guy remembers that it was Sam’s idea for him to be there in the first place and is giving him a little trust in return. Still, he slowly shakes his head with a shy smile, then unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out himself. Jack takes Dean’s hand like he owns it—and, okay, he kinda does and always will—before following Mary and Sammy toward the sidewalk, practically pulling Dean along behind him. 

Dean’s gliding, mind pretty blank all things considering. He follows his family up the concrete steps to a door he’s pretty sure he helped paint one summer—but maybe he just saw that in a movie and is making shit up. 

The entryway lights glare and have black spots flashing in his eyes before he can get a grip. When his eyes, forever a little blurry, focus again he takes in the stairs a few feet away, the rug with boot prints under his feet, the sliver of a living room and sofa that he can see if he angles his head just right. It all looks...the same? It’s not like Dean remembers a whole hell of a lot but nothing looks out of place or like it changed nearly as much as he has since he last laid eyes on it. Yeah, it just looks the same.

He knows eyes are on him before he even glances at his mom or Sammy. They’re looking at him like he might shatter into a bunch of tiny pieces any second which, fair, but it still makes his skin prickle.

Clearing his throat _way_ too loudly, Dean messes with Jack’s tousled-up hair so he doesn’t have to look at anyone else, “So, uh, my room still upstairs?”

It’s a dumbass question to ask, it’s not like some magic construction fairy rearranged the whole place just to confuse Dean on the off chance he ever got to go home again. But that slimy, slithering thing in his belly wouldn’t be half surprised if they tossed out all his shit and put in gym equipment or a guest bedroom instead.

“Yeah,” Mary sucks in her lip, shaking away whatever thoughts must be swimming around in her head too, “Yeah, second door on the right. Just...just like you left it.”

“Batman sheets and all,” Sammy smirks, and Dean has to hold himself back from barreling Sammy into another hug because _fuck_. His little brother is teasing him for the first time in years.

Instead, Dean ducks down and starts untying Jack’s shoes even though he knows full well the kid can do this himself. Jack doesn’t seem to mind, though, just balances with one hand on Dean’s shoulder. It helps Dean’s mind slip somewhere with easy waters again.

The kid takes his hand again when Dean rights himself, only a little dizzy compared to usual.

“Are you guys thirsty? Hungry? There’s Winchester Surprise in the fridge…?”

Dean’s stomach swings and aches all of a sudden at the thought. That sounds fucking _fantastic_.

“Uh, yeah. Yes...please,” Dean’s mouth is already watering, “How about you, Jack? Hungry?”

Jack nods, his face breaks into that rare gap-toothed grin that makes Dean feel like maybe he’s doing something right in the world after all.

“Honey,” Mary pats one of Sammy’s broad shoulders, “Could you go heat them up a couple of plates and I’ll take them upstairs to get settled?”

Sammy hesitates a second like he doesn’t want to miss out on any of the action before slipping off down the hallway.

With a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, Mary leads them up the carpeted steps. There are pictures on the wall that are all vaguely familiar. The nicked edge of one frame has a memory of slamming into the wall when he was little itching at his brain. Dean shivers.

“Here we go,” Mary pushes a slightly ajar door all the way open and flips a switch just inside. The room is smaller than Dean expected. Remembered? His brain is just this side of too tired to really give a shit about parsing that out. Dean feels kinda like a giant stepping into this little kid room that fits about as well as he imagines the t-shirts in the dresser would fit him now. At least Jack will probably get comfy here quick.

In fact, Jack is already making himself more at home than Dean. The kid walks thoughtfully around the room’s perimeter, fingers skimming over a shelf lined in a bunch of Goosebumps and the Harry Potter series and other random books with the Goodwill stickers still on the spines. Step by step his big eyes absorb the room, and that’s not a half bad idea since trying to take it all in at once is making Dean’s head spin a little. So, his own gaze follows Jack’s path, flitting over the colored pencil pictures taped to the walls and the smattering of off-brand Lego boxes stacked neatly in one corner, past the sweatshirts hanging on the dresser knobs and finally to the little twin bed sporting Batman sheets as promised. A little smile tugs at Dean’s lips.

“Dean!” Jack’s gap-toothed grin is even brighter and twinkly, and he squeals a little, pointing up at a mini poster tacked right above the nightstand, “Cowboys!”

Mary chuckles, leaning against the doorframe, “We saw that at the resale place in town and Dean spent the money he got from mowing Mrs. Baker’s lawn to buy it. He just slammed his money down.”

A glimmery memory floats to the surface, “She...she knew sign language, right? Her granddaughter was deaf?”

Mary’s brows climb up her forehead, her smile surprised but subtle.

“Yeah. On both counts.”

Jack’s hands skim the bed next, feeling the fabric of the sheets and the heavy blanket over top of everything. His eyes flash back up and he makes his way over to Dean, side-eyeing Mary before tugging at the hem of Dean’s t-shirt. 

Jack cups his hand, whispering, “Can I--Where am I gonna sleep?”

“In here, dude,” It’s not even a question, right? Where the fuck else would he sleep and Dean still be able to keep an eye on him? “We’ll share it just like, uh, like before, alright?”

He pulls Dean back down, “Which side though? There’s no wall to face…?”

Dean swallows back a weird thickness but manages a smile, ruffling the kid’s hair a little.

“You don’t have to worry about anything—” _Luc_ “barging through the door anymore, okay? Nothing’s gonna hurt you here,” Jack pushes up into the hand, “But I can take the side closest to the door if you want.”

Jack smiles, nodding and resting back against Dean. His curious eyes still checking things out.

“Um…” when Dean looks back up, Mary’s pushed away from the doorframe and her jaw is a little tighter. She clears her throat, “You know, I was thinking about that. Maybe Jack could take your room, you could take Sam’s, and he could take the couch. Just for a little bit—until we get a cot or another bed for Jack.”

Dean’s brow furrows, “Why?”

“Just, uh, thought maybe a little space would be good for everybody. I mean…”

Something spiky snakes its way up Dean’s spine.

“You ‘mean’ what?”

Mary’s cheeks get a little pink and her eyes drop to the floor, “I can’t imagine what you went through over there, baby—what you all went through,” she glances at Jack and bites at her lip, “I know the kind of things you saw...and did everyday...it’s not your fault if your mind deals with it in funny ways--”

“Mom,” Dean grits. His eyes are burning, his skin running hot and itchy against his new clothes. What does she want? Why is she saying any of this shit? He doesn’t want...she’s not supposed to know…not supposed to talk… 

“I just think some physical boundaries—like not sharing a bed—could be healthy,” She finally meets Dean’s eyes with a soft but unyielding look, “To make sure nothing...happens anymore that’s not supposed to happen. I know Cas is closer to your age but...Jack is so young and—”

“ _What?_ ” Dean’s gonna throw up. He’s actually gonna be sick, “You think I—Jesus Christ, you—what? You think I fucking—” his voice drops into a hiss, “touch Jack like that?”

Despite his rising volume, he’s getting that tingly feeling behind his knees and that lightness in his head. Maybe he’ll pass out before he can even make it to the bathroom.

“Dean, I didn’t…” Mary’s words dissolve into silence and her gaze falls to the floor once again.

His face is numb, “Holy crap you _do_.”

_Only a day and she can already see right through you, baby cakes._

Mary starts saying something like _well after I saw you with Cas…_ but now the blood is thumping in his ears. His vision is blurring out—or greying out, maybe? 

_Wonder how long it will take for everyone else to know exactly what you are. Hey, do you think Sammy’s figured it out yet?_

Is she...is she right to be worried? Will all that shit Luc did, all that stuff he liked to do—did he make Dean a monster like him too?

“Touch me like what?”

Jack’s eyes are big and curious and, yup, Dean’s gotta sit down. From where he was leaning against the wall, he slides down onto his ass, but his breathing won’t calm down. 

“Dean, honey?” 

His mom’s face is being washed away by grey clouds and flashes of bare skin smeared in come and prickled from the cold of the basement. Dean can feel the tremble of Cas’s pokey hipbones under his own after each too-dry thrust, slick wetness of Jack’s drool and tears mixing where his head rests on Dean’s thigh, and the throb-burn-throb of Luc pulling at clamps on his nipples, the smell of that crusty-ass mattress fills Dean’s head, making it pound…

_Of course I’m a danger to him. The fuck was I thinking? Jack didn’t ask for any of this, neither did Cas. I’d never do that to Jack though—he’s just a kid. But...Cas was just a kid, too. And I had no problem sticking my filthy-ass hand down his pants whenever I damn well pleased. And after everything I did to him, too. No wonder his family doesn’t want me around—how’s he ever gonna go to Heaven with me around—_

“Dean?”

He blinks. When did he move over to the bed? Sammy is squatting in front of him big, sasquatch hands on both of Dean’s knees. He’s saying Dean’s name. Wait, did Sammy help him sit up here? Everything’s a little cotton-y still, but at least Sammy’s moving lips are close to syncing up with his words.

“S-Sammy?” Dean’s throat clicks. His hands raise to his cheeks, shoving at the wet tracks that weren’t there a minute ago. God, he’s such a little bitch.

_My little bitch, right, cupcake?_

Sammy’s shoulders immediately loosen and his hands give a little squeeze.

“You scared the shit out of us, dude,” he says, but the dimpled smile pulling at his cheeks takes away any of the sharpness from his words.

“Sorry.”

“You feel alright? Dizzy at all?”

Jack squirms a little and Dean’s surprised to find the kid at his side again, tucked against him with his cheek squished into Dean’s shoulder—as if he could make Dean’s pain go away if he just hugs tighter.

“Huh? Uh, no,” Dean licks his lips and glances over Sammy’s shoulder. No Mary, “I-I’m fine. Sorry.”

Jack squeezes his arm and Dean almost laughs. He knows what that stern look on Jack’s little face means, though the words that echo in his brain are in Cas’s soothing voice. _What have I told you about saying sorry, Dean?_

Hearing Cas’s voice is much better than Luc’s. His breaths start to fall into place, the rigidness in his spine oozing out.

Mary bursts around the corner with a glass of water in her hand. She slows to a stop when she sees Sammy’s (now dimmed) smile, handing the glass to Dean. Dean doesn’t meet her eye and he just barely keeps from flinching away when she cards her hand through his hair. Jack’s hand snakes down to twine with his.

“I didn’t—I’d never...with Jack…Cas is just…” Different? 

Mary’s sigh is soft, and her fingertips brush over his forehead like she’s feeling for a fever everyone and God knows she won’t find.

“I know, baby,” Jack squeezes his arm again as she says, “I believe you. I’m sorry.”

Should she believe him? It’s kind of a lie but also isn’t. He’d never have done any of that shit if Luc hadn’t chucked his whole reality out of the fucking window—but it was still Dean’s body causing Jack’s pain. Did that count? Surely it does, right?

Dean doesn’t say anything.

Sammy rises back to his feet, towering over them all. He still fidgets like a kid though and the thought has something dull and pleasant thumping around in Dean’s chest.

After another beat of silent staring that has Dean’s gut churning and a new flush creeping up his neck, Sammy clears his throat and heads over to the dresser.

He comes back with a shirt and flannel pants Dean doesn’t remember but must’ve been his at some point.

“Here, Jack,” Jack’s cautious hands take the jammies, an observant eye on Sammy, “Might be a little big on you but you can cinch up the waist. And, Dean—” hazel eyes that are so smart and in-charge that Dean can still see that self-assured little kid trying to convince Mom and Dad that a real dog and not just a stuffed animal is really in the best interest of the family, “You can borrow some of my stuff, sound good?”

Dean nods, the corner of his mouth kicking up at the corner.

“Do you still have Bones?” when Sammy only squints, Dean adds, “Y’know? The, uh, the dog thing…?”

Sammy’s confusion suddenly bursts into a grin, head tipping back in a warm belly laugh.

“Uh, yeah. I think? Probably in the attic somewhere.”

“Actually,” Mary’s own smile winds into a smirk, “That’s not a bad idea. We could take a trip up to the attic. Get Jack some of your guys’ old clothes. See if anything of Dean’s found its way up there,” Her cheek twitches, “Maybe catch you up a little?”

It sounds like as good an idea as any. Dean nods, “Yeah, sure. Could be cool.”

“We’ll have a nice, big breakfast, start the day good. How’s that sound?” Mary leans in and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead and he squeezes his eyes tight, trying to soak in every millisecond of it. 

“G-Good, Mom.”

The touch is gone in a moment as both Mary and Sammy step toward the door, “Okay, Sam will grab the stuff from the hospital out of the car and I’ll finish heating up that Winchester Surprise, do you two need anything else?”

When their footsteps disappear down the stairs, Dean and Jack find themselves completely alone for the first time in days.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Dean sleeps solid as a rock—like he hasn’t gotten any shuteye in years.

Maybe ‘solid’ isn’t quite right because he stirs to something close to consciousness the handful of times Jack gets up to go to the bathroom, the bed dipping and resettling with the little guy’s weight. He’s not sure how much of it Jack actually sleeps for, but he’s got a sixth sense—even when he isn’t fully there—after sharing a bed with him and Cas for so long, and that sixth sense would tell him if the warm body pressed up against his had disappeared at any point. It never does.

Dean’s pretty sure he got up to take a quick piss at some point, but that could’ve been a dream.

When whatever weird internal gauge tells his body he’s all full up on sleep, Dean’s sticky eyes slide open at a snail’s pace. The first thing they land on is the lime green alarm clock (all digits unblinking) on the nightstand. It’s 4:00pm. Dean rubs his eyes again and blinks, trying to refocus, but the numbers don’t change. He slept for nineteen hours? Beside the clock are an empty plate and bowl stacked on top of each other, he’s glad that at least Sammy and his mom had fed Jack even if Dean was snoring away like Sleeping Beauty.

Jack is still here, too, sprawled out on his stomach like a starfish. Floppy, sleep-heavy limbs lay across Dean, little fingers flinching and squeezing as his eyes move beneath pale lids. He’s never seen Jack so goddamn peaceful and something burns nice and bright under his ribs even if he’s still not awake enough to be certain this isn’t a dream. 

_How did Cas sleep?_

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Being out in the world is still scary as shit, but as much as it twists Dean’s stomach into anxious knots—it’s a fucking _thrill_. Someone at the hospital had given him and Jack (in addition to bottle after bottle of vitamins) sunglasses to wear outside. Something about their eyes needing to adjust to sunlight again. It kinda sounded like a load of bull to Dean until they step out into the Kansas sun on their second day home and he shrinks in on himself like he’s fucking Dracula. 

Mary swoops in with a pair of the shades before Dean can start hissing, Jack following behind her sporting his own pair that are just slightly bigger than his face. They slide down and he pushes them back up to the bridge of his nose. The little smile he flashes Dean gives the sun a run for its money.

“Lookin’ good, kid,” Dean’s lips kick up at the corners, “Ready to go?”

Riding in a car again is also weird as all get out, but he kinda loves it more than he can explain. Bits of something he thinks must be a memory flow through his mind as they go. The images are fuzzy under his skin until he finally has to ask.

“Did, uh,” Mary turns down the volume of the radio flowing through the minivan. Dean’s eyes flit up to the rearview mirror, “Did we have a different car? Like, black and really big?”

He’s not sure what he was expecting but his mom and Sammy sharing some look with too many layers for Dean to wrap his head around is not it. Mary’s eyes return to the road, not meeting his, “Yeah, baby. The Impala. Your dad had that car until he...”

_Died._

“Oh,” the answer isn’t big or shocking, so Dean has no clue what her and Sammy were fussing over a second ago. He supposes he has been kind of a loose cannon lately so he can’t really blame them for being nervous that any little thing might set him off. His cheeks heat up a little bit and he dips his head back to look out the window, “Okay. Cool. Thanks.”

Dean’s had his fill of doctors and hospitals for the next couple of decades but, walking out of the eye doctor/glasses store, he’s man enough to admit the trip was well worth it.

“What do you think, dude?” Sammy’s dimpled smile is even better when it’s not blurry.

Dean glances around the parking lot with his hand still on the car door, the fingertips of his other hand going up to brush along the thick, black frames. He’s not sure why he picked these honestly. 

He’d gotten so used to that weird, intermixing haze following him everywhere that it’s all a little jarring but totally— “ _Awesome._ ”

“You look really, really different with glasses, Dean,” Jack smiles, taking the hand he doesn’t need but Dean still offers to hop up into the van. Climbing in after him, Dean gives the kid a playful shove and a _shuddup_ before plopping down in his own seat. After a quick glance to double-check that Jack is buckled—he’ll probably never get over that habit, he buckles himself in. Jack keeps staring but with a squinty, more serious furrow in his brow. Dean’s about to tell him to knock it off when the kid says, “I think they make you look even more handsome, though.”

“Heh,” Dean doesn’t have to look in the rearview mirror to know the tips of his ears are pink, “Maybe you need to get _your_ eyes checked—”

“Nonsense,” Mary interjects, and Dean really does avoid looking in the rearview mirror now that he can feel her reflection gazing back at him, “You look very handsome, Dean.”

“Cas would love them,” Jack’s still beaming even though just hearing his best friend’s name has Dean’s stomach going through all sorts and painfully pleasant loop-de-loops.

Okay—so _maybe_ the fact that these glasses looked like they had Cas written all over them had something to do with why he picked them. Maybe.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

After a feast of grilled cheese and salads—Dean hasn’t had carrots in forever, _God_ —they make the collective decision to head up to the attic. He isn’t 100% clear on what they’re actually looking for up there, but by the way Sammy and his mom have been glancing at him all day, he’s pretty sure they’re using this trip down memory lane is to see all of what Dean actually remembers (not much) than to actually unearth anything.

He’s just glad all their stuff isn’t stored in the basement. Dean’s pretty sure he’s never going in anything deeper in the ground than a puddle for the rest of his natural born life.

The place is a little dusty, but a least it’s not dank and damp like Luc’s had been. Stepping up the rickety stairs and seeing dust has his chest lightening where he hadn’t even realized it’d been heavy. There’re boxes packed and stuffed in pretty much all the corners. Dean has literally no memory of this place, but that’s not as scary of a prospect as other places he should remember but doesn’t. At least there’s a solid chance that he was never actually up here—might’ve been young enough that his mom and dad packed it up themselves.

Mary points to a corner with a stack of cardboard boxes and plastic tubs, “Dean, why don’t you and Jack start over there. I think some of your hand-me-downs that Sam used are in there. Along with...you know...other stuff you might want to look through.”

Dean arches a brow at the annoying vagueness of that, but Mary’s already turned on her heel and making her way through the labyrinth, looking for God knows what. The pitying looks and puppy-dog eyes have tapered off a little at least, but this new cryptic shit is getting on his nerves pretty damn quick. 

He pushes up the bridge of his glasses and goes where directed with Jack in tow.

“Dean?”

Jack tugs at the hem of his shirt even though Dean’s already turning to look at him. He ruffles the kid’s hair because, well, he just hasn’t done it in a while—sue him.

“Yuh-huh?”

“What were you like when you were my age?”

Dean chuckles, pulling a hefty-ass box of books until it rests in front of a couple of the other boxes. As good a place to start as any. Jack just plops on the floor, still fixing Dean with curious eyes. It’s a look he used to get in the basement sometimes, but the storm clouds aren’t there like they used to be.

“Well,” the complete silence of Sammy and his mom are a sure-fire guarantee that they’re listening carefully even if they’re pretending to be busy, “I don’t remember real well, kid. Probably like you.”

“He was a lot like you,” Sammy chimes in, “Except, he was way more of a pain in my ass.”

Dean’s not used to the teasing and smiling that rolls off Sammy like the last half of their lives didn’t even happen, but he’s more grateful for it than he can put into words. 

He chuckles, “More like you were a pain in _my_ ass. Don’t think I forgot about giving you all my mini-Butterfingers at Halloween in exchange for your Whoppers even though that crap’s nasty.”

Dean freezes. He’d forgotten that until two seconds before the words had popped out of his mouth, “Huh.”

Sam is looking at him with an arched brow and a little smirk like he can read Dean’s thoughts. A blush creeping up his neck, Dean clears his throat and turns his attention back to the box in front of him. Well, Mary was vague but not bullshitting him. This box is full of little kid stuff, a couple of drawings and torn-out coloring book pages with ‘DEaN’ scribbled in green crayon in the corner of each. He gently sets the drawings to the side, not totally sure why they make the corners of his eyes burn a little, but they do. Probably just the dust getting to him.

There’s not much in the way of clothing in this box but a tiny flannel and a folded up sky-blue shirt. He lifts the shirt out, holding it up to in front of his new glasses.

“‘I Wuv Hugs.’ Seriously?” It’s, like, eighty sizes too small and embarrassing as hell—but also really freaking adorable. He stares down the little cartoon bear a second more and is about to toss it back from whence it came, when Jack makes an excited noise that draws Dean’s attention away.

“Hey! What’s that?” the kid’s little hands dig past a few items in the box. By one fluffy leg, Jack pulls out a teddy bear the color of milk chocolate. It’s wearing a little red t-shirt with overalls and when Jack squeezes its belly a tinny ‘I love you’ booms in the attic’s small space. Jack’s gap-toothed grin grows to new levels that Dean’s never seen. Beaming grey eyes turn up to Dean, “It’s a Marvelous Marvin, I had one of these!”

Dean abandons the ‘I Wuv Hugs’ shirt real damn quick because _this_ is pretty freaking adorable. Jack squeezes its belly again, getting another joyful, mechanical response as he stares at it in wonder. Dean has no clue if he still got this excited about stuffed animals when he was Jack’s age—or if that’s even normal—but he really doesn’t give a good goddamn. Jack deserves whatever happiness he can get, and Dean will beat the stuffing out of any asshat who says otherwise.

“You can have him if you want, buddy.”

Suddenly Jack is hurtling off the floor and nearly knocking Dean off his box of books. The little guy’s got more muscle than one would guess, and his squeezing hug takes Dean’s breath away in the best possible way. 

Jack smacks a kiss to the side of Dean’s head and draws back with a big, toothy smile, “Thanks, Dean!”

“Heh,” Dean scratches the back of his neck and turns his grin to the floor, “Sure, kid.” _I’d die for you._

May is laughing as she appears like magic from around a stack of boxes. A thick photo album is cradled in her arms, open to the later pages.

“Here, Jack,” Mary squats down and Jack hardly hesitates before joining her side to look, “That’s little Dean in...fourth grade? No—maybe a little younger than you, but somewhere around there.”

Jack’s eyes flash between Dean and the picture, his smile kicking up a couple of watts.

Dean doesn’t want to see it though, so he busies himself shuffling through the box past some old Thomas the Tank Engine trains.

“And that’s Dean and Sam all dressed up for Halloween—Dean had made a little friend in Kindergarten who they went trick-or-treating with that year,” Jack giggles but Dean’s stomach is getting a little wonky, “Oh! And this— “

“Who’s that?”

Dean risks a glance in their direction to see Jack’s furrowed brow as he points at a picture on the opposite side Mary’s looking at. Dean’s one brow furrows when his mom’s shoulders tense and that weirdly smooth expression passes over her features, darkening them for a second, “That’s John. Sam and Dean’s dad.”

A chill ripples across Dean’s skin. Come to think of it, there weren’t any pictures of his dad in the hallway—and Dean would’ve fucking noticed if there had been. He’d stared at those pictures way longer than is probably healthy. They were an evenly positioned parade of time marching on: Mom’s hair going short from one photo from the next, Sammy’s braces appearing and disappearing from yearbook photo to yearbook photo. And Dean missed it all. How did he also miss the fact that John hadn’t been in one single photo?

“Hey, Mom?” Mary doesn’t look up, but her cheek twitches and he once again gets that shitty feeling he’s not gonna like the answer to his question.

“Yeah, baby?”

Dean licks his lips, “Where are all the pictures of Dad?”

The floorboards creak as Mary shifts her weight where she squats. Her and Sammy share another one of their secret-talking-about-him-behind-his-back looks and anger spikes up in Dean’s chest out of nowhere.

“Would you two quit it with all the goddamn looks, please?” Dean snaps slapping one of the cardboard flaps out of his way and turning to look between them, “Would you just tell me what you think I’m too much of a dumb fuck to handle?”

Sammy tucks a strand of hair behind one of his ears.

“Dean…” Mary starts, placating and _sooo_ not what Dean wants to hear right now. He keeps his laser eyes focused on Sammy because, from the way his baby brother is fidgeting, the dude is .02 seconds from cracking.

Dean arches a brow, “Sammy, why aren’t there any pictures of Dad?”

Sammy’s big shoulders droop.

“We weren’t sure how much you’d...but, uh,” if Sammy were literally anyone else, Dean would feel like slapping the answers out of him—but it’s Sammy so all that anger just keeps on simmering below his skin, “Mom and Dad got a divorce.”

Dean blinks. Then he squints. 

“Wait—why?” _But...didn’t they love each other? I—wait, did I make that up, too?_ “You guys split up after I got taken? Why?”

Sammy looks at Mary, but their eyes don’t meet. She shakes her head.

“Honey, we got a divorce two years _before_ you disappeared.”

The edges blur a little for Dean despite his glasses, that weird, floaty feeling hitting his head like a baseball bat. He licks his lips again, knuckles a deathly white where he’s clutching the cardboard. Opening his mouth and weird breathy thing escapes first before words do, “What the _fuck_? I, um...I don’t reme…”

Suddenly everyone is way closer than they were a second ago and he wonders if he blacked out, but they’re not acting like he did so that’s a good sign. He’s probably just being weird again.

Jack is leaning against him, clutching Marvin to his chest.

Mary's fingers are in his hair and he flinches, so she draws them away. Dean wants to be sorry about that but it’s hard to focus on it for more than a second.

Sammy is looking over her shoulders—but not that creepy-ass looming Luc used to do.

“Dean?” His little brother’s voice is gentle but solid.

“Honey...what else don’t you remember?”

_Do you think I’d be such a fucking mess if I knew?_ Dean wants to scream. He even wobbles on shaky legs to a stand, ready to give the whole attic a piece of his mind—

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

They’re all frozen for a half second longer before Sammy takes off, maneuvering his gangly limbs down the pull-down ladder to grab the phone.

Mary doesn’t say anything else, but Dean won’t let her off that easy. If she’s not gonna say shit, she’s gonna have to not say shit with him glaring at her the whole time.

There’s a _clunk!_ And then Sammy’s freakin’ hooves are coming back up the staircase somewhere below them. Then his baby brother’s voice hollers up from the foot of the ladder, kinda out of breath like he was taking the stairs two at a time. 

“Dean! It’s Cas!”

If he thought _Sam_ took off like a shot…

Dean damn near falls and breaks his neck clambering down the rickety-ass ladder. 

Sammy’s beaming at him, the cordless stretched out to him like a gift from the gods.

_Hallelujah!_

Dean’s smiling and giddy and a goddamn nutjob but he can’t help it even a little as he brings the thing up to his ear hard enough to hurt.

“Jesus Christ— _Cas_? Is that—” Dean gulps and blinks away the stinging that’s making his smile twitch because he is _not_ about to sob into the phone like some snot-nosed toddler, “Is that you?”

There’s a matching gulp on the other end that Dean could pick out of a line-up, followed by the voice of the angels... 

“ _H-Hello, Dean_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Lol sorry (not sorry) to leave you on a cliffhanger!


	16. "Lord of This World"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Lord of This World" by Black Sabbath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I know it's Tuesday, but tomorrow I'm starting spring semester so I figured I would post today. That way everything's a little less hectic.  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

Maybe _this_ is Heaven? No, if this were Heaven, Dean would be holding Cas instead of just the phone—but, _fuck_ , he’ll take it.

“S-Sunshine?” Dean does not squeak.

A hearty laugh that Dean missed more than showers and laundry machines rumbles through the receiver. Slumping against the wall a little, he lets the sound wash down to his bones.

“ _Dean…_ ” There’s so much love and fucking _reverence_ in that one word—a word that has sounded dirty to him since before he can remember. A light sigh and a hiccup trips into Dean’s ear and he’d sell his soul to kiss Cas’s forehead, let the other boy cry on his shoulder, “ _It’s so good to hear from you._ ”

“Th-Thank you—it’s, uh, it’s good—heh...” _What the fuck am I going with this sentence?_ “Good to hear your voice.”

Dean cringes, but Cas chuckles again and Sammy is smiling like an idiot so maybe he didn’t fumble it too badly.

“Cas!” Jack is shooting off the ladder at lightning speed, too, and thank God Sam is spotting the kid when he nearly loses his grip on one of the rungs. Jack doesn’t miss a beat, though, barely batting an eyelash before he’s pressed in and peering up at Dean with a smile that even rivals the one he was giving Marvelous Marvin.

“ _Is that Jack? Is Jack with you?_ ” Cas is almost as breathless as the kid.

“Yeah, hold on—” Dean’s butterfingers nearly drop the phone as he finds the speakerphone button. He looks up just in time to catch Sammy and his mom making a stealthy exit down the stairs and his chest loosens a little. 

They’re (more or less) all together again.

“Cas!” Jack exclaims, voice bubbling and giggly. He’s practically vibrating in his skin—not that Dean’s much more put together himself, “Cas! Hi, Cas!”

“ _Hello, Jack!_ ” Cas chuckles and sniffles at the same time, “ _Oh, Jack—Dean...I missed you both so much._ ”

Dean gulps again, still beaming, “M-Missed you, too, buddy.”

“Miss you so much, Cas!” 

Dean’s seeing goddamn unicorns and rainbows as he sputters, “How have—where—are you okay?”

Cas’s chuckle dies down real quick and there’s the rustle of fabric or something, then Cas is letting out a long low breath.

“ _I’m okay, yes,_ ” There’s a little lilt to his friend’s voice and Dean picture the quirk of his lips as he says, “ _Especially since someone made a big scene in the cafeteria to make sure I got this number._ ”

Dean’s cheeks pool with heat and a nice, swoopy feeling settles in his stomach.

“Heh. So, uh, Gabe told you about that?”

“Dean’s a weirdo,” Jack beams, absently playing with Dean’s fingers like little kids do.

“ _But he’s our weirdo, isn’t he?_ ” There’s that smooshy, love-y voice again and Dean’s very nearly a puddle on the floor. He hasn’t heard that voice since the morning Luc packed them all up in his van. That seems like lightyears ago. 

Jack chuckles, nodding even though Cas can’t see. Cas’s voice shifts again, more serious but still as fucking cozy as can be, “ _Really, Dean. Thank you. I adore—I don’t know what I’d do without you. If I couldn’t ever hear your voice again…_ ”

The other boy’s voice crackles through the phone and Dean doesn’t care how unrealistic a wish it is—he doesn’t want Cas to be sad ever again for the rest of their lives.

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that. You’ve got my number and you can call it anytime you get a chance—day or night, I don’t give a shit, okay?” Cas hums a sweet _‘o-okay’_ and Dean just really wants to hear more of his best friend’s voice, so he asks, “How are you even calling us anyway? I thought your mom...” 

There’s no kind way that Dean can think of to end that—and he really doesn’t want to shit all over _Mrs. Shurley_ right to Cas’s face (ear, whatever)—so he just cuts his losses and ditches the thread of the sentence all together.

“ _Gabe made an excuse to take me for a short walk—I’m borrowing his cell phone._ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Cas chuckles, “ _You made quite the impression on him._ ”

“Glad I made a good impression on one of your family members at least,” He really doesn’t mean it to sound as bitter as it does, especially since it is _far_ from Cas’s fault. He can feel Cas winding up to give him some talk about putting himself down, so he quickly says, “So, uh, how’s the leg? How’re you feelin’? Are you getting enough zzz’s?” _Do you still snuffle in your sleep like you always do when I’m holding you at night?_

There’s more shifting and another sigh like Cas is choosing to go along with the topic change, but not falling for it.

“ _My leg is doing better, yes. They say, since it was only a ‘minor surgery,’ that I can go home tomorrow but I don’t know if…_ ”

Cas’s breath hitches.

“You ‘don’t know if’ what?”

Another pause.

“ _Dean...can you take me off of speakerphone for a minute?_ ”

Jack’s grey eyes get a little sadder but he only sighs without protest. Even that little bit of pain on the kid’s face is fucking heartbreaking and how did Dean ever deal with watching what Luc did to Jack if this hits him in the gut like buckshot. Dean hits the speakerphone button and lifts the phone to his ear; the other hand reaches out to squeeze the back of Jack’s neck. The kid ducks in, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and resting his head at the bottom of the older boy’s ribs.

“What’s wrong?”

“ _I don’t…_ ”

_I don’t want to see you ever again. I don’t know why I ever thought I could love you. I don’t know how you live with yourself after everything you’ve done._

The receiver buzzes with a sound Dean’s heard a million times in the dead of the night. He shoves his own bullshit into its deep, dark corner and grips the phone tighter.

Dean’s voice drops to a low note, the kind of sound he used to whisper into his friend’s hair when Cas started shaking.

“Sweetheart,” a hitched breath and a sniffle, “what’s wrong?”

It’s a dumb fuck question because the answer is _everything_. Everything’s wrong and they both know it.

“ _I, uh, I don’t know when..._ if _I can talk to you again,_ ” Dean lets the wall take his weight again as his heart squeezes like compacted sand in a baby’s little fist, “ _They won’t—They think it’d be ‘for the best’ if we ‘moved on’ a-and they won’t listen to me and I-I can’t—_ ” a wheezy inhale crackles and breaks in Dean’s ear.

“Shh,” Dean hums and thanks the universe that at least some of Cas seems to have rubbed off on him. The soothing part of him at least, “it’s okay, buddy. You’re okay. Can you take a deep breath for me?” A slightly less wheezy exhale, “Good, that’s good. In...out...in...out...there you go, big guy.”

“ _D-Dean, I don’t wanna go home. Mother doesn’t want me to see you or Jack again. She thinks Luc made me sick in the head, too. She—She says the only way to ‘help me heal’ is to ‘cut out the corruption’ but I don’t—I don’t want that! I don’t! But she won’t listen, Dean! And I don’t want to—I can’t—_ ” there’s another sob like Cas’s heartache is trying to literally strangle him. It’s a sound that has Dean angrier than he’s ever been at a God he didn’t start to believe in until he met Cas. He hates how much Cas is hurting—but he hates it even more that Mrs. Shurley is probably right about him, “ _Dean...it’s not really home if you’re not there._ ”

“I...I know, sunshine,” Dean’s throat clicks, “But you still have the napkin, right?”

“ _Of course._ ”

Dean smiles down at the top of dark blonde hair.

“Then you just call me or send a letter of whatever you can whenever you can, okay?”

“ _O-Okay._ ”

“We’ll be right here, Cas. Just keep breathing, buddy, and we’ll figure it all out—this won’t last forever. Hear me?”

“ _Y-Yes,_ ” There’s a rustle then Cas’s voice is close, so close, like he’s speaking into his cupped hand. Whispering like he would if he were tucked into Dean’s side and they’re the only two beings in the Milky Way that matter. A shiver runs down Dean’s spine, “ _I love you, Dean. I can’t even...I love you unspeakably so._ ”

Dean’s gonna die. Dean’s an idiot who’s gonna die without his angel by his side.

“‘Unspeakably so.’ You’re so weird,” He wants to lay his head on Cas’s lap and let the other boy card fingers through his hair, kiss his forehead and tell him he’s a good person. Dean’s gaze drift to the ceiling and, even with gravity on his side, he brushes away the tears that pinprick his eyes, “I-I love you, too.”

“ _Gabe is saying I have to hang up now..._ ” Dean’s gonna throw up, “ _Can you hand the phone back to Jack...so I can say goodbye?_ ”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean clears his throat, “Goodbye, Cas.”

“Goodbye, love.”

Dean shoves the phone at Jack before he can start bawling and lets his knees give out like they’ve been wanting to since Sam hollered those magic words. Jack doesn’t seem bothered, just follows to sit in the valley between Dean’s knees as he eats up his alone time with Cas.

The kid’s eyes light up the more Cas seems to talk, gaze flitting back to rest on Dean a few times. Dean pushes a too-long strand off the kid’s forehead and tries to soak up these last few seconds of them being altogether, before everything comes crashing down again. Jack smiles and cups his hand over his mouth and the receiver, but Dean still hears a very distinct ‘I love you, too’ before the little guy says his goodbyes and hangs up.

Without missing a beat, and still clutching the phone in his fist, Jack wraps his arms back around Dean. His breath is warm through Dean’s t-shirt where his head nuzzles against the older boy’s shoulder, making his fluffy hair a little staticky.

“That’s from Cas,” he chirps, surprisingly peaceful even though Dean’s brain is doing a nose-dive into the darker parts of his brain. He’s glad Jack has his eyes elsewhere so maybe he won’t notice the redness at the edge of Dean’s eyes, “He said that I should give you all the hugs you won’t ask for but secretly want—whatever that means.”

Dean hiccups on a laugh that could quickly become a sob if he lets it.

“H-He’s the boss,” Dean says, “So, have at it.”

**||||||||||||||||||||**

_Dean’s shaking on the floor of his closet. The tips of his ears burn, and his cheeks are wet and hot, tears trekking down in quiet trails that drip onto Jack’s forehead below. The baby squirms, snuffling at the salty drops trailing to his lips._

_“Shh, Jacky, shhh!” Dean hisses, “He’ll find us!”_

_It’s so quiet—but Dean’s fallen for that before. Luc is just listening. Always listening._

_Jack squirms again and Dean pulls the baby’s swaddled form closer to his chest. He’s too scared to hum, even though he knows it’d help quiet the little guy._

_Finally, the stillness of the house breaks and thick boots thud somewhere on the first floor. They’re getting closer._

_“Come on, cupcake. Don’t make me come get you.”_

_Luc’s bright red eyes and gnarled fangs are as real and clear to his eyes even with the towering man all the way downstairs._

_Jack snuffles again, face scrunching up and Dean’s heart kicks up to rival a rabbit’s._

_“Don’t cry, Jack,” Dean pleads, pressing his face to the baby’s. He kisses the Jacks soft forehead over and over in desperation, “He’ll take you away from me and eat you up.”_

_That’s exactly what the devil does with babies isn’t it? He’ll sink his fangs and razor claws into Jack’s pudgy cheeks. He’ll steal all the rest of Jack’s life—tear the baby to shreds in the blink of an eye. Dean can’t fail the little ball of perfect in his arms. Not like every other time._

_Suddenly those boots are thundering up the stairs—not down them, some weird part of his brain registers._

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

_Jack’s little brow rumples, features turning angry and pink, like a volcano about to explode. Delicate lips curling back over toothless gums is the last thing Dean takes in, half a second before the first wail comes. It splits Dean’s head open like a sledgehammer, blaring and shrieking as loud and shrill as an airhorn—still, he pulls Jack even closer to his chest. Jack screams and screams and screams so Dean presses the baby’s roaring mouth as tight as he can to his ribs._

_Fresh tears burn his eyes._

_Thump! ThuMP! THUMP!_

_Dean’s bedroom door shatters into a million tiny pieces when it swings back on its hinges, sending the nightstand lamp to the ground. A wide beam of light engulfs what Dean can see of the wall through the cracked-open door of the closet. Luc’s shadow gets bigger and bigger, his steps louder and louder._

_The only thing that’s quieter is Jack—no more screams. No more sound at all._

_Dean pulls the baby’s head back from where he’d squeezed him close. Jack’s little lips are bruised from being pressed against his shirt, skin a sickly white. His eyes are as milky and dead as a gutted fish. Dean shakes the tiny body, but nothing happens. Jack doesn’t move, jaw slack, pudgy cheeks now floppy and cold. The baby’s last breath lost somewhere in Dean’s suffocating chest._

_“You squeezed too tight. You killed him, Dean,” Luc is there now towering over him, sneering down at him—but it’s not Luc, “You had one job—take care of your brother and you couldn’t even do that right, you dumb little fuck.”_

_“Daddy?”_

_His eyes drop to the dead bundle in his arms—and it's not Jack anymore either. Dark hair flops over a grey-blue forehead, dimples invisible in waxy cheeks. No more dimpled smiles. A tiny black tongue lolls out instead._

_“He’s dead because of you, Dean,” His daddy is getting closer, crowding in the doorway of the closet._

_“But I—Sammy wouldn’t stop crying and I—” Dean’s choking but he can still breathe, nothing dulling the evidence of his failure in his arms._

_“Too tight, kiddo. You always hold ‘em too tight until you squeeze the life right out. You squeezed Sammy, you squeezed Jack. Who’s next? Cas?”_

_His daddy’s arms reach out, talons like a hawk’s sprouting from each fingertip. Dark eyes with no ring of brown the same color as his raven hair._

_“Daddy? Daddy?_ Daddy? Daddy?”

Dean’s eyes fly open to darkness. His chest locked and tight and heaving against an iron wall with each breath that doesn’t make it in all the way. His limbs don’t move and don’t move and don’t move. Then he’s fighting upward, head too light and spin-y as his whole body jerks upright. Sitting up like this, the breaths come through better—but not good by any stretch of the word. The sheets and his t-shirt are soaked and chilly at the sudden rush of air against his back, sending armies of goosebumps out across his arms. His hands shake and pull at his hair, and he swears—in the crazy of the night—that he can actually hear his bones rattling under his tight skin.

There’s movement next to him, but when has there ever not been movement right next to him while he sleeps? A warm, little foot pushes against his leg, and Jack snuffles into his pillow somewhere in the void.

But it’s not a complete void. Jack hadn’t liked how dark it got at night, so Mary had scrounged through one of the attic boxes until she found an old Toy Story night light that had resided in Sammy’s room over a decade ago. Jack felt better after that, actually allowing more than an inch of space between him and Dean. Dean had felt better with the little nightlight too even if he planned on taking that fact to the grave. 

Now, he thanks the angel Castiel that there’s enough light for him to make a quiet getaway without falling on his ass in the still unfamiliar space. It’s a fucking miracle Jack doesn’t wake up at Dean’s gaspy breathing, or that he even has the mental wherewithal to remember to be quiet when he closes the bedroom door with a soft _snick!_ that echoes in the hallway.

Stumbling only a step or two to the side, Dean’s body drops back against the wall as he huffs and pants scratching breaths and pretends he can’t feel the slickness on his cheeks.

The hallway is barely visible with only the streetlights creeping up the stairs from the windows in the living room offering anything to see by. Dean kinda wants a Toy Story night light in the hallway, too. It’s weird as shit how much better the smiling faces of the little cowboy and his astronaut buddy make him feel. Maybe they’re best friends like him and Cas. Does the cowboy like to kiss his outer space dude, too? Why the fuck is Dean thinking about animated characters making out at ass-o’clock at night?

He squeezes his eyes shut but all that’s hiding behind his eyelids are black eyes and gnashing teeth. He whimpers a pathetic little noise and his harsh breaths spasm in his chest all over again.

“Dean?” Dean’s eyes dart up in the direction of the familiar voice, but it takes a few blinks before he can actually see Sammy’s outline, “Whoa, Dean, are you okay?”

He’s at least glad that, if nothing else, the darkness hides the shame flushing his cheeks, “‘M f-fine.”

It’s so obviously bullshit when said between wheezes while he’s leaning against a wall for dear life—but what else is he supposed to say? It’s Dean’s job to look after Sammy not the other way around.

“Yeah, ya look fine,” Sammy huffs out a laugh with no humor and steps closer. He’s clearer now, but perpetually hazy since Dean rushed out without his glasses. 

The flit of hazel eyes still catches in Dean’s head because...well, he never thought he’d see them again. But here Sammy is, in the flesh. Hands bigger than Dean’s rest solidly on his shoulder and on his chest. Sammy’s big paw rises and falls with each of Dean’s breaths, warm over his ribs. 

“Really...I’m o…”

Dean kind of loses track of his thought because, staring at his brother’s hand, the rise and fall starts to even out. Sammy’s hand follows each inhale and an exhale in a smooth wave and, hey, that raw feeling in Dean’s throat is gone.

“Were you about to say ‘okay?’”

In hardly any time at all, he’s feeling as normal as possible by his standards and even feels his lips quirk up—another thing he’s glad is hidden in the dark.

“Shuddup.”

After another few easy breaths, the hand on his chest falls away and he kind of misses it. But the hand on his shoulder stays firmly in place, giving a light squeeze.

“Let’s get you some water.”

“Dude, really I’m f—"

“There’s peach cobbler leftovers in the fridge.”

Dean pushes away from the wall onto surprisingly solid legs.

“Lead with that next time, Sammy.”

  
  


**||||||||||||||||||||**

Dean’s already plowed through one dripping piece of the sweet pie (what the hell is a ‘cobbler’ anyway—this is pie, dammit) while Sam’s still in the throes of scooping out ice cream for his.

“I’m surprised you didn’t choke inhaling that thing.” 

“Shuddup,” Okay, maybe Dean’s pride is still just a little butt hurt that his baby bro found him bawling in the hallway, and that’s making him a tad snippy—but at least Sammy has the humanity not to mention it. He presses the last of the graham cracker crust crumbs with his fork, getting every last smear of peachy goodness. Screw a good wake-up-stretch, _this_ is better than coming. Laving his tongue over each and every inch of the plate, Dean licks up every dab.

He sets his plate to the side, a hum leaving his still-sugary lips. 

_Oh, yeah. That hit the spot._

When he glances over to say something—nothing really, maybe talk about the weather, some shit like that—Sammy is staring at him, “What? Do I got something on my face?”

Sammy looks back down at the licked-clean plate, “You know you can have more, right?”

His brother doesn’t wait for an answer, just shoves his own cobbler and ice cream monstrosity at Dean and starts plating up a new piece.

“Oh, yeah,” Actually, Dean had forgotten. Not really _forgotten_ forgotten just...he just didn’t remember for a second. That’s all, “‘course.”

He surveys the rest of the kitchen from where his ass is seated on the countertop. It feels like all he does these days is take in new information and try to sort it all out. It’s all new but also not and that kinda freaks him the fuck out if he thinks about it too long.

If he weren’t a dumbass he’d maybe have a good anaggolly—anagoly—angolloly? Whatever Cas called it—he’d wrap it all up with a bow. Maybe Cas would say something like taking in all the new-but-not suddenly flooding his life is like trying to store things in his mind’s attic, but all the boxes are smashed in at best and pulverized at worst. And then every once in a while, some crazy dude starts throwing up boxes that aren’t even yours but you’re somehow expected to know what gets sorted into them, but no one ever taught you any of that crap so it’s a big fucking ask...okay, he kinda lost the thread of that one. Nah. Cas would think of something much better than that load of horseshit. 

“...Jack been doing?”

Dean blinks back to Kansas, to Lawrence, to the kitchen where he’s eating pie with his not-so-little brother.

“Huh?”

Sammy takes another gigantor bite.

“I said how’s Jack doin’?”

Sammy swirls his spoon in an overly casual way, but Dean clocks the tenseness in the kid’s shoulders in a second. He’s nothing if not a master of reading shoulders and all the little things they say without saying. He’s not quite sure what exactly makes Sammy weird about this topic—oh God, he hasn’t been getting any bullshit, disgusting ideas from their mom has he?

Dean sets down his plate with more of a _clank!_ than he intends.

“He’s fine. Fan-fucking-tastic. Can’t you tell?” His voice is rising a little more than he should let it with the kid sleeping upstairs, but low, hot shame apparently doesn’t take the night off. He hops back down to his feet and eyes the exit, “We’re both doing great. And, no, I’m still not some kid-touching creep so you can tell mom to shove it up her ass—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sam’s own plate slides to the counter, his hands out and spread like a double surrender. He’s not really in Dean’s way if he _really_ wanted to escape, but even still, Sammy takes a step to the side when he follows Dean’s line of sight, “Just hold on a second.”

“What?” Dean bites. The last thing Dean wants to do is fight. Really, he’s just so fucking tired of fighting—it comes out all the same, though. 

On the brightside: if he’s pushing, at least he’s not squeezing.

“Jesus, Dee. A.) I have no clue what you’re talking about. Mom really called you a ‘kid-toucher?’” Dean’s cheeks burn but Sam rolls on, “and b.) I was just wondering how he was doing. You’re, like, the only one he talks to and you know him best so... I was just askin’. Okay?” Sam sighs, and those shoulders shift into something pensive and brooding and less scared-animal, “Look, saying I missed you is-is the understatement of the _century_ and I just...I don’t know. I just wanted to eat some pie with you for a second. That’s all, I swear.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Sammy genuinely looks like he’s clueless about the Mom thing, or the way he crosses his arms like he’s the one who’s splayed out like an exposed nerve—but if Dean’s honest, it’s probably the fact that Sammy called him ‘Dee’ that has Dean warily perching back up on the counter, spoon in hand once again. At least the pie still tastes as good as it did twelve seconds ago. Small comforts.

“Oh,” he mumbles. Sammy actually wants to, like, just sit here? With Dean? That’s it? “Well, shit. Yeah, we can do that if you wanna.”

“Cool.”

The more time Dean spends topside, though, the more long silences have become a physical itch. So, it’s only a couple minutes before he breaks down and asks, “So, uh...watch anything good on T.V. lately?” For whatever reason—he’ll wonder why for the rest of his life—that has Sammy tossing his head back in a rumbly laugh that dips his dimples. His brother nearly snorts out a piece of peach and has to brush away a dribble of ice cream from the corner of his mouth before it trails down his chin. Dean’s own laugh surprises him. Fuck, if it isn’t a welcome, though, “What? My small talk’s a little rusty. Sue me.”

Sammy only chuckles again, smiling as he sets his now-clean plate in the dishwasher and pulls out a bag of Doritos from one of the cupboards Dean tries to mentally map as the Snack Cupboard.

“Uh, let’s see,” Sammy starts. He holds out the bag without glancing over. Dean takes a few, shrugs, and dips them into the sticky sweet mess on his plate, “Well, haven’t been watching much lately but—oh! My friend Kevin made me watch this documentary on this study from the 60’s where they had a bunch of people flipping switches and listening to a guy in a white lab coat—basically they were trying to explain why the Germans followed Nazi orders even though they knew they were inhumane.”

Dean blinks, then snorts gracefully around another bite of salty-fruity-vanilla awesomeness, “God, you sound just like Cas. He’s super smart like you, too. Dorks.”

_I miss my little fluffy-haired dork._

“Yeah? What’s, uh, what’s he like?”

Dean is midway through licking his cheesy fingers clean when his ears perk up, “Who? Cas?”

“Yeah, I mean you talk about him all the time. What’s he like?”

Finally, something Dean actually _wants_ to talk about.

“Well, uh. He’s smart. But I already said that, I guess,” a grin is already tugging at Dean’s lips, “And really matter of fact sometimes—I actually think he’d be a good math teacher or something. When he’s got headphones on, he sings like it’s nobody’s business, but he’s got a shit singing voice,” Dean’s eyes crinkle as the big baby blues swim in his brain, “Not like I’m any authority on that, though. I still really like to listen to him squawk. I taught him, like, all the Zepp I know so now he can sing most of it by heart, too.”

“‘Zepp?’ As in Led Zeppelin? Wait, you guys listened to music down there?”

Shattered plastic and metal shards clutter the pretty blue, but Dean sweeps them to the side as easily as he’s swept away far worse.

“Yeah. There was a Walkman and a bunch of tapes. Fucking loved ‘em,” he says, “What else? He was pretty into God and religion and stuff when I first met him but, uh...he’s not so much anymore. He was named after an angel—‘Castiel.’ The angel of Thursday. Wait,” Dean nearly drops his plate when a fresh peal of laughter bubbles out of him, “Weren’t we rescued on a Thursday?”

“Shit. Yeah, I think so.”

“Wild,” he mutters, “Anyway, where was I? Cas is smart, sings like shit—oh, he’s awesome with Jack. That kid fucking _adores_ Cas like you wouldn’t believe. When Luc would, uh...when Jack didn’t feel good, Cas could have him sleeping like a baby within a half hour. Guaranteed. He’s gonna make a good dad someday. He also does this thing where he pets your hair and makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. Oh, and his hugs are next level, especially when he presses his whole face like, into your neck and tells you how you’re smart and kind and how much he lo—” Dean freezes. Sammy is staring at him with soft wide eyes and Dean’s own gaze fall to the floor, mumbling, “howmuchhelovesyou,” before stuffing another chip in his traitorous mouth.

Neither say anything for a minute that stretches too long in Dean’s opinion. He can feel Sammy burning holes into the side of his face.

Finally, “You really love him, don’t you?”

Dean keeps his eyes fixed on the pattern of the linoleum and takes another bite. 

He nods.

Sammy doesn’t add anything more so Dean clears his throat, forcing a chuckle, “Oh and, heh, the little dude’s a fucking space heater. Swear to god, I probably would’ve frozen my toes off eventually if Cas didn’t octopus all over me at night. He also sleeps like the dead...y’know, if he doesn’t have any nightmares.”

“You two shared a bed?”

Dean bites his lip. Hell knows why his usual filter isn’t doing its job...but it’s also kinda nice. Y’know? ‘Cause Sammy is still here, and Dean never talks about Cas around Jack so the kid doesn’t get sadder than he already is on a daily basis.

“Uh, yeah. Just mine at first, then Cas came, then Jack came. Luc never got a second bed—or a second fucking pillow for that matter. Asshole.”

He can almost feel Cas curled in against his side, head a warm weight over his heart. He can almost hear the little hum of Cas mumbling in his sleep—not ever making complete words, just little noises like he was having a very serious conversation with the sheep about why they were jumping over their fence.

His ribs tighten. Okay, Dean doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. 

“No wonder Jack doesn’t leave your side. Was it just the one room or—?’

“Nuh-uh. Nope,” Dean slides down to his feet and stacks his plate by the counter. Most of the Dorito dust is gone, but Dean still turns to wash his hands, so he doesn’t have to meet Sam’s eye, “Sorry, dude. I just—I can’t. I...don’t know how…” 

_How to talk about any of that shit and be able to look you in the eye ever again._

“Hey, hey, no worries, Dean. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t wanna.”

Some of the ropes wrapped around his chest loosen. He swipes a hand through his hair ( _Should I get a haircut?_ ) and licks his lips.

“I just…”

How can he explain this? Do the words even exist? If they do Cas could probably find them—but Dean is hopeless. How does he explain what it was like to wake up every day knowing the pain was coming? It wasn’t a question—it was inevitable. How does he explain that half his memories—half his _life_ has been lost to the fog, and he’s probably never gonna get it back? How does he explain that he never wanted any of it, but he still did all of it?

He can’t say any of it out loud for God and everyone to hear—but maybe he doesn’t have to...

“Dean, really, you don’t—”

“Hang tight, Sammy.”

Sammy is standing by the counter still, fingers fidgeting with his spoon a little when Dean comes back into the kitchen. The plastic hospital bag with all their old shit in it, now unearthed from the hall closet—cradled in Dean’s arms.

His heart is thumping and bumping under his chest which is stupid because this doesn’t even make it into the top 100 scariest things he’s dealt with. Looks like his body didn’t get the memo.

“Wha…?  
His brother has long since abandoned the chip bag and curious gaze zeroing in on the bag.

“These are, uh...were mine,” Dean fishes out the stack of notebooks thumbing through without absorbing anything other than recognizing his inky scrawl. They’re heavier than he remembers, and he feels weirdly lighter when Sammy scoops them out of his arms.

“You wrote in these?” Hazel eyes are already scanning over the first few pages.

Dean shrugs and toes over a swirl in the linoleum pattern, “Got bored, I guess.”

“‘Dear Sam.’ You wrote me letters.”

Dean scratches the back of his neck and is already backstepping a little toward the staircase before he even realizes he’s doing it.

“Yeah. I dunno. Guess they’re really yours, actually,” Dean eyes the stairs but doesn’t take them yet, “I, uh, kinda thought you were...dead. For a while.”

Dean can almost hear a crack like thunder when Sam’s head snaps up to beam laser eyes into his skull. Dean still doesn’t look up.

“What? Are you serious? You thought I— _Why_?”

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat and puts a foot on the first step, “Luc told me you were. And I’m an idiot so I believed him,” Sammy’s little huffy annoyed sound makes Dean’s cheeks burn again, but when he looks up Sammy’s seething at some point off in space—not him. Dean licks his lips, “I’m gonna—if Jack wakes up and I’m not there neither of us will be getting any sleep tonight so…”

Almost at the last landing, Sammy’s voice crackles in the air, “D-Dean?”

The big guy’s eyes are rimmed in red, but Dean’s not sure Sammy even realizes. Dean swallows around a pebble that pops up out of fucking nowhere.

“Um, yeah, little brother?”

Sammy’s mouth opens and closes on air, eyes flitting away and back, “You’re not stupid, Dean. You’re actually fucking _smart_. And...I’m glad Cas told you since I couldn’t be there to do it.”

Dean’s toes scrunch in the carpeting of the stairs.

“T-Thanks, Sammy.”

Dean makes his escape without another word.

He only stumbles a little until his eyes adjust to the dim glow of the nightlight. Jack’s slow, sleeping breaths are a sweet hum in his ears. Jostling as little as possible, he climbs up and back under the covers. Jack’s brow is furrowed like maybe he’s having important conversations with jumping sheep, too. 

The kid only shifts a little when the mattress gives under Dean’s added weight, his small arm clutching Marvelous Marvin to his cheek. Dean’s heart does that weird fluttery thing again. 

He smirks at the darkness, “‘Night, Marv.”

Scooching closer, he draws Jack into the circle of his arms, kissing that furrowed brow even if he’s not sure why he does it. Jack nuzzles back in his sleep and Dean holds on a little tighter—careful not to squeeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :) See you next Wednesday!


	17. "Good Times, Bad Times"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Good Times, Bad Times" by Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Inauguration Day!!! Hope you enjoy this week's chapter!  
> Take Care,  
> Blue  
> P.S. Sorry if the writing's a little different in this one, I've been reading Cormac McCarthy and he's been bleeding into my thoughts lol

“Jelly, butter, or both?”

“We can have both?”

“Yeah, dude. You can have both if you want.”

Jack’s eyes are bright and curious even though it’s only a little after sun-up. Staring down at the steaming toast, his brow furrowed in thought, before turning an overly serious gaze back to Dean.

“I think I wanna try both, please.”

Jack’s little heels kick lightly against the bottom cupboard doors as he swings his feet. Dean spreads a layer of butter than a layer of jelly over the slices on both plates. 

“That enough, or do you want more?” Dean asks, gesturing with the strawberry-sweet table knife.

Another serious furrow that has Dean biting back a smile, then Jack says, “A little more, please.”

“You got it.”

Another heaping glob is spread over Jack’s slices as Dean hums notes in the back of his throat. He’d be able to name the song, artist, album, and release date if he thought about it. But his mind is peacefully quiet and un-muddied this morning.

“Why do we have two plates? Can’t we share?”

Dean takes a breath and waits for his body or brain to spaz out—but it doesn’t happen. Still feelin’ pretty Zen. It’s a simple question and Jack is just curious. Dean licks off the knife and sets it in the sink, still keeping one arm across Jack’s legs—he knows it’s ridiculous and the little guy isn’t gonna take a tumble from off the counter just because Dean steps more than a foot away...but still.

“Because we’ve got a dishwasher now. We don’t have to do dishes by hand so it’s not as big of a deal if we dirty a couple more.”

“And we have enough food to fill up two plates now, right?” 

Dean leans against the counter, facing the kid. He scratches the back of his neck and takes a bite of his toast, “That too. Yeah.”

Jack is cradling his own plate like it’s stacked with diamonds, like he’s not sure if he should eat it or thoughtfully observe it.

“But I liked sharing a plate with you. I liked feeding you sandwiches, too.”

Jack isn’t sad exactly just...disappointed? A small, knobby knee under old-as-shit firetruck jammies nudges absently at Dean’s side. He gives the kid’s knee a little squeeze because it’s what Cas would do and what Dean wants to do, then returns to his toast. 

“How come?”

The kid shrugs, and shovels one of the slices around the plate, picking up little red globs.

“I don’t know. It feels like I’m taking care of you since you and Cas take care of me all the time. Just feels nice, I guess.”

Even in the short window, Dean has plowed through his food. There’re only a couple bites left, but he sets down his remaining piece and brushes the crumbs from his fingers regardless.

“Kid, look…” His stomach is heavy but he’s not sure if it’s anxiousness or just the heavy butter of the toast. He decides it’s just the food, it’s easier that way, “You take care of me all the time. You and Cas—you guys are like my world. Y’know?”

“Cas gives you hugs and says nice things to you and helps you make decisions. I can see how that’d be helpful. But how do I take care of you?”

Dean scratches the back of his neck.

“Well, you do that stuff, too. Right? Like, uh, like when you helped me decide what we should have for breakfast this morning. And you give me a hug, like, every twenty minutes, so there’s that.”

Jack gets squinty eyes and does the little head tilt that has a wave of _CasCasCas_ rolling through Dean’s body before he can smother it.

“But I like doing those things.”

Dean chuckles, giving the weird little dude a light headbutt and returning to his lukewarm breakfast.

“Jack, buddy, you can like helping people. It doesn’t have to be all taking a bullet for someone just so they can be happy. Giving me hugs and you just being all _you_ and smiley helps me a lot sometimes. You don’t need to feed me sandwiches to take care of me. Just keep being you, alright? That’s what you’re good at.”

A content smile tugs at Jack’s pinkened cheeks, “That sounds like something Cas would say.”

_He’s not wrong._

Dean tucks a piece of hair behind the kid’s ear that had flopped into his face.

“Eat up. It’s gonna get cold soon if you just stare at it.” 

Jack’s attention snaps back to his toast and he takes one tentative bite. Then another, then another. In the blink of an eye his plate is clean. A wide, gap-toothed grin spreads across his soft face, dancing in his eyes even as his mouth is preoccupied licking at his sticky fingers.

“Heh, it’s good, right?” Dean takes the twisty tie back off the bread bag, “Another slice?”

Jack nods excitedly, still swiping his tongue over now non-existent traces of jelly as if there’s still sugar molecules left to find. 

Just as Dean’s sliding another two pieces of bread into the toaster the thump of large feet comes padding down the staircase. That thick thudding sound is probably going to raise Dean’s hackles for the rest of his time on Earth, but it only takes a half second for brain to register _Sammy_ and chill the fuck out. Hell, Sammy and their little cobbler talk was probably why he’d been so mellowed-out the last few days.

“Mornin’. I’m making toast, do you want...” but when Dean glances over his shoulder his sentence kinda peters out. Sammy is pale and just this side of shaky, eyes wide as moons and staring right at Dean. Turning around, Dean begins, “Dude, are you o—”

In three giant steps, Sammy damn near scoops him off the linoleum and into a hug that punches the words right out of Dean’s lungs. Jack hums a surprised noise somewhere to the side, too.

“I, uh…” Sammy’s voice crackles.

There’s only another second of hesitation, then Dean hugs back, patting over a trembling shoulder blade.

He chuckles, “Well good morning to you, too. Seriously, are you okay, though?”

Sammy doesn’t let go, doesn’t even come close to loosening his arms. He’s not _trembling_ exactly, but it’s the weirdest Dean can ever remember seeing him, “Sammy?”

The dude startles back into himself, pushing away, but only to arm’s distance. His fists hold Dean solidly in place as hazel eyes, dull with purplish bags weighing them down, scan over Dean. He’s peeling back all the layers of guts and skin to see right down to his big brother’s soul, Dean can fucking _feel_ it.

“I—yeah, I just…” the intensity crumbles away and suddenly Sammy is just a shy little kid with his hands stuffed in his sweatpants pockets, looking at the patterns in the linoleum, “I couldn’t read—Wasn’t sure if I wanted to...then I did.”

Dean squints. The fuck did Sammy read that has him so—?

“Oh,” The _notebooks._ Well shit, Dean had kinda forgotten what all was in there. He pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs the lingering itch of sleep from his cheeks, “Look, I shouldn’t’ve made you read—”

“I-I’m glad you did, Dean,” There are those goddamn puppy eyes, back again to make Dean lose track of any protests as always, “Thank you.”

“Pshh,” Dean scoffs even as the tips of his ears turn pink. At least Sammy isn’t mad or disgusted or something. He has every right to be if what’s in those notebooks is half as bad as what he actually does remember—but all Dean sees in the kid’s eyes is...shock? Love? A deer in the headlights if the deer loved the oncoming truck? Who the fuck knows? The ripple of shame Dean’s expecting doesn’t come. A low pull in his belly to _run hide find safety_ tugs at him, and the bristle of shame is definitely there—but he’s still standing. And Sammy doesn’t get it and never will, but he’s still standing there, too. And maybe Dean can be alright with that, at least for this morning. He scratches the back of his neck and turns back to the quickly-cooling popped-up toast, “Alright, weirdo, one slice or two?”

He can still feel the weight of Sam’s eyes on him, and Jack is tapping his fingers on his plate and just watching, taking it all in.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Mary comes down the stairs with a pep in her step Dean hasn’t seen yet. She joyfully gets the coffee going, joyfully lays out a towel by the sink before she starts on the big dishes that don’t fit well in the dishwasher, then joyfully kisses the side of Dean’s hide with a ‘Mornin’, hon’ that is so natural and so weird and so fucking awesome that Dean melts as much as the butter on his third round of toast.

Jack’s getting into the energy, too, more than happy to follow Mary’s lead and smack a kiss onto the other side of Dean’s head. Okay, everyone better cool it this instant or Dean’s heart is gonna burst out of his chest like a goddamn cartoon.

“I woke up with an idea this morning,” his mom says, voice lilting with a smile that she shoots them over her shoulder as she rinses a cookie tray. 

“Yeah?” Dean pours a glass of chocolate milk for him and one for Jack.

Her eyes go over to Sammy who’s still a little twitchy but doing better since he sat down. He’s still staring at Dean more often than not, but what’s new?

“Do you remember Lake Chitaqua?”

Sammy squints, starting to shake his head before a grin starts to pull at his lips, “Uh, yeah. I think so. We used to camp there sometimes when we were really little, right?”

Dean kinda remembers camping, less of a sense memory than just knowing that at one point it happened. Dean doesn’t nod, just takes a sip of his milk.

“Well, I was thinking—it’s supposed to be a really nice day...maybe we should spend it outside. Just get away from all this for the day and see the beach? How does that sound?”

It’s a new place—at least to his mind—and the thought of going any further than the mailbox makes his stomach all twisty, “How about you, Jack? Wanna see the beach?”

Jack’s already beaming and there’s no way in hell they aren’t going now, so Dean resigns himself to a little more anxiety than usual today. But, hey—if they’re gonna go anywhere, the beach doesn’t sound half bad.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

It feels like Dean is carting half the Walmart in his basket when he sees _them_. Freezing mid-lane, Jack and Sammy almost topple him over when they suddenly collide with his back.

“Dude?”

“Dean?”

But Dean’s already turning into the open aisles of the electronics section, off like a shot as he wobbles to the display rack, undeterred by the basket’s heft. 

He’d recognize that cover art anywhere.

“ _Physical Graffiti_? Holy shit!”

The second he sidles up in front of the rows of CDs, directly in front of the little paper ‘L’ tab, Dean drops the basket at his feet and nearly loses all sense of anything outside of this new little bubble.

_It’s my Robert._

Hands gliding over the smooth plastic wrap of the album, his fingertips only brush the windows and bricks and letters like they’ll dissolve into nothing if he’s not gentle. Turning the plastic case over, he mouths along as he reads the list of songs and—shit, okay. Not gonna cry. Not gonna cry.

“Dean? What’s that?” Jack is at his side now, not tugging at his sleeve, just holding it. Dean knows he must be grinning like a moron because his smile is immediately mirrored on the kid’s healthfully flush features. 

“It’s _the_ songs. The ones from the basement, remember?” The kid’s little smile doubles and he reaches up to look at the plastic case, too. Dean hefts him up onto his hip and starts pointing, “They’ve got _Physical Graffiti_ , _Led Zeppelin II_ —fuck, there’s a _Zeppelin IV_ , dude! They made a four!”

Even though the basket was a pain in the ass to carry, Jack’s warm weight hardly registers. Shifting, Dean grabs another case, the one they’ve never seen before, and starts reading out song titles that have all sorts of butterflies swooping in his belly. 

“Wait—is this…” Sam is at his elbow, plucking a copy of _In Through The Out Door_ off the display and skimming the back, “Is this about the Walkman you guys had?”

“Yeah! They had really good songs. Dean’s a good singer,” Jack chirps at Sammy, and while Dean’s hardly absorbing much beyond the bold letters and smooth covers, this pulls him back down to Earth for a second. 

It’s the first time Jack’s spoken to Sammy. 

Sammy is freezes just like Dean had, a dimpled smile already spreading wide and beaming across his face. He doesn’t even say anything to that, seeming to lose the thread of his thoughts altogether.

“What are you boys up to?” his mom turns around the corner, maneuvering her cart with one shitty wheel into the wide aisle they’re crowded into. A few cases of pop and an extra lawn chair weigh the metal beast down, but Mary moves in beside them effortlessly, “Ooh, Zeppelin.”

Dean’s attention snaps up to her, “You know who Led Zeppelin is?”

“Yeah, me and your dad used to listen to them all the time when we were first dating,” her forehead scrunches, “Wait, where did you hear about them?”

“They’re, like, my _favorite_ band of all time,” Dean turns back to the display and thumbs through cases one-handed that he’s already looked at. It’s not an answer to her question, but he’s pretty sure she doesn’t actually want to hear the answer. 

“Well,” Mary scooches in on his left, “If you like them—ah, I think you’d also like these guys, too.”

She holds out an album not packaged in a plastic case, but one that feels like an envelope of thick cardboard. It’s all black with a triangle in the middle, a beam of light going in one side and a rainbow bursting out of the other.

“Pink Lloyd?”

“Floyd.”

“Pink Floyd?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mary’s grin spreads even farther as she makes her own journey through the display, “And these guys are classics, too.”

She hands Dean another case, this one in a smattering of red, black, white, and grey.

“The Rolling Stones?”

“They’re a little different style—but I think you’ll like ‘em. I didn’t know Walmart had a such a good selection.”

Sammy snorts and picks up the basket, “I know right.”

When they finally leave the CD display, Dean holds Jack’s hand on one side and cradles a handful of colorful cases on the other. The kid is reading off the back of that Pink Floyd one mostly to himself, but occasionally holding it up because he wants Dean to admire the rainbow again.

Just before they turn into the self-checkout pen, Dean grabs one of the disposable camera boxes that’s housed between the gum and $2.49 package of hair binders, tossing it in with everything else.

Their cart trundles along across the dirty asphalt. A plastic bag with the chip bags swings from Jack’s arm, he’s squirmy but Dean thinks it’s probably just from excitement the kid doesn’t know what to do with, so he tries not to get to worried about it. Besides, Jack is talking up a storm about what song they should listen to first so it must be a good kinda squirmy. Dean gets lost in the avalanche of words but doesn’t mind one bit. Jack is happy, and that’s more than worth getting his ear talked off.

Then he sees the second thing that steals the breath right of his lungs that day. This time, it’s not so great.

“Dean?”

He doesn’t move.

Even with the shrill _Beep!_ of some stupid car nearby, Dean doesn’t blink.

A long warm, arm wraps around his shoulders and yanks him to the side. Sammy’s bitchin’ at him for standing in traffic or something, but Dean doesn’t really give a shit. His eyes don’t tear away from the store on the other side of the strip mall.

Mismatching neon signs for companies Dean vaguely remembers litter the glass front, lit up like a lighthouse even at 10:00 in the morning. Letters in sunset colors stand tall and loud above the entrance: _The Cage: Spirits, Liquor, & Hookah!_

Dean blinks.

“Dean, honey? What’s wrong?”

The arm is a heavy and still wrapped around his shoulder, probably the only thing holding his feet on the ground so he doesn’t float off into grey. The arm squeezes tighter like Sammy wants his attention. 

Sammy, baby Sammy. 

His eyes finally break their laser gaze and snapping up to round hazel ones that are staring at him. Sammy looks worried. He doesn’t want Sammy to worry about him, especially when he doesn’t have a fucking clue why he’s spazzing out in the middle of a parking lot.

He holds his little brother’s eye even as he answers his mom’s question, “I...I don’t know.”

His breathing is raspy at best and choked at worst, so he lets Sammy guide him to the car, a protective grip still keeping them hip-to-hip. Jack squeezes his hand and Dean squeezes back, but he doesn’t look down. 

**||||||||||||||||||||**

When a couple of miles and a handful of unanswered questions finally separate Dean and that liquor store, the knots strangling his chest loosen, slumping further back in his seat with every passing billboard.

“Are you sure you still want to go to the beach?”

Mary’s attention is divided between road and the rearview mirror in about equal amounts and Dean might be worried about that if the way she steers and hits the blinkers didn’t seem so automatic to her. For the fourth time, Dean nods and tries for his most reassuring smile, “Really Mom. I’m fine. I promise. Just thought I saw something back there—but it musta been nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing, not by a long shot. But Dean doesn’t know what it was, so he holds his tongue. Besides, it’s not like he’s gonna think about it any less if they just tuck-tail and go home. Jack’s smiled more today than Dean can ever remember and like hell if he’s gonna ruin a good thing for the kid.

The car falls into silence that’s not comfortable, but not really uncomfortable either. It’s pretty lukewarm and Dean can live with that as those sunset letters continue their taunting dance around the backs of his eyes. Seriously, what the fuck?

He almost startles when the bursting drums of “Immigrant Song” start to rattle the car. Sammy, sitting in the passenger seat, cranks it a little louder. Jack is grinning and grabbing Dean’s arm and looking like he’s about ready to explode into confetti. The little guy’s energy is, honestly, infectious and the liquor store slips out the back door like it was never even there.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Lake Chitaqua is blue brown, under the afternoon sky. It ripples and sloshes, making sounds like static that burrow down in Dean’s brain until he starts to not hear them anymore. Every part of his body has a weird, sticky-greasy feel to it, still tacky from all the sunblock Mary made them put on a half hour before she let them out from under the covered picnic benches. It’s all so surreal and sandy and open space to stretch out in and Dean kinda feels like a goddamn alien just landing on Earth for the first time. Unlike most new-but-not things, the beach washes through him like the waves, and he absorbs it instead of trying to wrestle it into submission. 

_Gotta take Cas here sometime._

“Dean?” Jack splashes ahead of him a few steps further in the water, “You have to keep moving Dean. If you stop for too long you can feel the little fishes biting your toes.”

“They can bite all they want, kid. There’s plenty of dead skin for them to feast on.”

Jack scrunches his nose and looks down at his own (fishless) toes in the water. Dean rustles his hair as he passes by, sinking deeper and deeper until his Walmart-bought swim trunks poof out.

“Is that why they bite your toes?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”  
“That’s gross,” the kid shakes off imaginary fishies before bounding forward to catch up with Dean’s much longer strides, “Where did you learn that?”

He shrugs, glancing at the cottony clouds. The middle one is shaped like a butcher knife plunging right through some poor bastard’s heart, “I’m not sure. School, probably. Maybe Cas told me?”

“Yeah...that sounds like Cas.”

Dean’s glasses have tinted into dark shades to match the ones slowly sliding down Jack’s nose. When he glances over, though, Jack’s shoulders have drooped a little and Dean wants to smack himself upside the head. Why’d he have to bring up Cas and go raining on the kid’s parade? Dean scooches Jack’s sunglasses back up to the smooth bridge of his nose, tugging the boy’s hair a little until he looks up at Dean. He can do this. He can be happy so Jack is happy, and maybe he’ll eventually believe it, too.

“Hey,” Dean slides into the most genuine smirk he thinks he can shimmy up to the surface, “Piggyback ride?” Jack loves those, especially since Dean doesn’t offer them that often and the kid never seems to want to be the one to ask.

His young, rubber band emotions snap back to elation and he starts clamoring for Dean’s shoulders. It takes two tries for Dean to hoist the kid’s semi-slippery body up onto his back, locking his arms under the kid’s knees. He feels lighter than Dean remembers, but after a six second heart attack at the thought of Jack somehow getting even scrawnier since going topside, the real reason dings like a bell within his thick skull: _I’m just getting stronger._

Jack’s giggle is right in Dean’s ear, a pudgy cheek pushed up against the side of his head, “Can we go out farther?”

Not answering, Dean just chuckles and keeps on wading in deeper. He gasps a little at the coolness of the water as it rises up his legs, shrivels his dick, and dips into his bellybutton. They take a pause to warm up, and Jack kicks his little feet as a motorboat zooms past in the distance and its wake sends mini waves all the way out to them.

Once the waterline is lapping just below Dean’s nipples, he sinks them down together so only the tops of their shoulders poke out. 

The kid is virtually weightless and laughs his little ass off as Dean spins and swoops them back and forth. His warm arms tighten around Dean’s shoulders and he buries his face at the nape of Dean’s neck with a squeal of ‘Deeeean!’ The vibration of it buzzes through his skin. Dean’s own smile is equally effortless now.

Yeah, they’ll definitely have to came back with Cas sometime. Maybe when they’re older just the three of them can spend the day here, eating sandwiches and splashing in the murky-clear lake, all that awesome squishy, slimy stuff between their toes. Maybe they could lay some towels out on the hot sand, Cas could bring a book—he really liked books, right?—and read Dean something while Jack takes a nap on a blanket on Cas’s other side. Maybe when Cas got to the end of a chapter, he’d let Dean lean up and give him a quick kiss before turning the page—

“Hey, you hungry?”

“We just ate. Why did you stop?”

“Cramp,” Dean lies, “Come on, let’s get a soda or something.”

“Okay,” Jack smiles.

Dean takes a fuck ton of pictures of Jack arranging rocks in patterns Dean doesn’t quite get but seem to make sense to the kid. Dark blond hair is all sandy and wet as it hangs in his face, though Jack barely seems to notice and just keeps on grinning up at Dean and the camera, waving to Cas when Dean says that’s who they’re gonna give the pictures to someday. Hopefully soon.

He snaps pictures when Mary passes out the PB&Js, and Jack almost immediately gets peanut butter smeared on his cheek. Jack takes one or two of him when the little dude asks. 

And after three solid minutes of puppy eyes, Dean lets Jack feed him a few bites of his sandwich and is rewarded with the biggest smile of the day so far. His skin gets a little prickly and the tips of his ears pinken, but Sammy and his mom hardly bat an eye at their weird shit anymore.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Dean’s still getting used to the feel of sunlight inching across his skin in the morning, waking up to toasty beams striping the blanket and lighting up the room. After the first night, they’d put a couple of blankets over the window in their room to block out the sun until they were ready to look at the world again. Then one night, Dean and Jack looked at each other and the blankets—sending telepathic messages back and forth on some mystical wavelength—before slipping the blankets off. They’d woken up to Mr. Sun making their heavy eyelids a bright pink and the morning impossible to ignore ever since.

This morning, Dean squints through his first few blinks. His sleep was deep and dreamless and leaves him perfectly stone-like under the thick comforter. Shifting from side to side, it only takes a second for the off-ness to push into his mushy brain.

The sun is warm but the bed—it’s too cold. 

Dean jerks upright, blinking and blindly feeling at his side for the little body that was nestled up to him the last time he was aware of anything. The sheets and cover are crumpled and messily pushed back, and Dean tries to calm the fuck down. Jack has the right to go to the bathroom or whatever without Dean losing his shit, and if the kid comes back right now while Dean is doing just that, big grey eyes will go guilty and that’s the last thing Dean wants. 

But his stomach isn’t getting the message that his brain is frantically trying to send. The bitter taste in his mouth, his empty, sleepy belly and the sudden burst of panic are all churning into the perfect storm and Dean’s gonna be sick if he just sits here doing nothing. So, swinging his sweatpants-clad legs over the bed, he pulls socks on before slipping out the bedroom door.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar. Pitch black, totally empty.

Dean barely has a chance for his internal sirens to start up again before his other five senses decide to chime in. He can smell something floating up the stairs. Something cinnamon-y. 

There’re noises, too. The _clink!_ of silverware, the faucet turning on and off. Giggling?

_The hell…?_

Padding downstairs like he’s ready for a dragon to be curled up, asleep on the hard-soft linoleum, Dean hardly makes a sound. The light clinking and giggling gets louder, fuller as he gets closer, turning into the mini hallway that leads into the kitchen. He stops just off the doorway, his breath catching in his throat.

“Can I do it?”

“Yeah, ‘course you can,” Jack is perched on Sammy’s hip, fists closed around a cone of frosting. Both are bent over a cooling rack with steaming cinnamon buns all line up in neat little rows. The counters are littered in powdered sugar dust and the twisted remains of aluminum Pillsbury cylinders. 

Sammy easily holds Jack securely as the kid swirls rich, white frosting over the first few and it’s clear that some of the remaining buns might only get drizzled on while the first few are being smothered like wedding cakes.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Sammy chuckles and tucks a strand of hair out of Jack’s face that the little guy keeps trying to blow away—just like he’s probably seen Dean do a million times now, “Careful of the sheet, though. It’s super hot.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Little tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, Jack has on his Concentration Face as he tries to make the sticky ribbons form in even loops.

“Nice job,” Sammy’s eyes aren’t on the cinnamon buns though, his bright smile instead resting on Jack. Dean stands just out of the doorway the whole time, not wanting to disturb...well, whatever this is. He just wants to see it happen, let that nice little bubbly feeling dissolve the panic—let the warm and fuzzies take the steering wheel for a while. When an idea sparks into his brain, he just as stealthily walks to the entryway, his jacket pocket, and back to his out-of-sight place by the doorway. He’s back just in time to hear Sammy say, “Hey, I think we got some sprinkles from Valentine’s day or something. Wanna put those on, too?”

“Can we?” Jack’s cheeks aren’t nearly as sallow as they had been even a few weeks ago, still sleep-flushed as he grins up at Sammy.

“Sure, man. And when you give Dean his ask if he wants to be your valentine,” the big dork laughs, hauling Jack and himself over to a cupboard that Dean assumes houses the sprinkles, “He’ll get a kick out of it.”

He’d cry is what he’d do, probably start bawling like a baby for no good reason if he hadn’t gotten this heads-up first.

Dean uses the last few pictures left on the disposable camera of the original 25. He can just about picture Cas’s face when he finally sees them. Cas’ll be as happy as Dean is that the kid is making friends.

And later, when Jack looks up at him with big eyes (a more healthy white now) and an even bigger smile, he’s holding out the homemade treat that’s almost dripping with pink and red hearts. Jack asks Dean to be his valentine and proceeds to tell him he wanted Dean to have the one with the most hearts because it has the most love, and Dean barely chokes out a _‘Sure, kid. Thanks.’_ without bursting into tears, and he’s unreasonably proud of himself for it.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

It’s a long week—mainly a blur of new things that are really old things but still feel like new things—before Cas calls again. 

Dean likes doing the dishes, it’s...soothing? Yeah, soothing. Usually, doing stuff that only involves his hands and not his brain is a recipe for disaster since having nothing to think about means he thinks about everything. But scrubbing away soapy bubbles from dishes with tiny, pale pine trees scattered all over leaves his brain blissfully blank. It’s the perfect thing to take the edge off before trying to catch some shut eye. 

Jack had been helping him dry until Sammy said he was starting a movie, asking Jack and Dean if they wanted to join. Dean had wanted to stick to this quiet little task, but had smiled and booted Jack out to the living when the kid flashed him big eyes.

With the last mug laid out on the clean towel to the side of the sink, Dean dries his hands and heads to the living room. Predictably, he finds Mary in her chair reading with the TV now on mute, and both Sammy and Jack completely conked out and curled up on the couch. Dean’s ribs squeeze pleasantly at the sight, and his mom gives him a little smile when she looks up. All his family safe and smushed up together. Well...almost all his family.

“Alright, kid,” Dean squats down by the couch where Jack is draped by a blanket, nearly melted into Sammy’s side, “Bedtime.”

Jack scrunches his nose, yawning and trying to squirm back to unconsciousness—pretty much just a mini version of what Sammy is also doing beside him. Dean chuckles and reaches out to lift Jack—

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Dean’s eyes snap up to the cordless blinking and sounding off in its cradle on the end table. The landline has hardly rung in the last week and each time, Dean ends up accosting some poor telemarketer before he realizes it’s not Cas. Then he’ll wallow off to go find somewhere small he can curl up, sitting in silence for a few hours to get his head on straight again.

He almost doesn’t pick it up. 

He doesn’t want to feel the rocket high of thinking it’s Cas only to plummet down in a fiery spiral when, nope, another day without his friend’s voice will soon pass. He hates feeling so weak.

But that’s not Dean, and he knows he won’t sleep tonight anyway if he doesn’t know for sure.

In two long strides he’s scooping up the phone and shoving his other hand into his pocket because it was never a real question.

“H-Hello?”

He’ll take the chance that it’s Cas, and just deal with the fallout later.

“ _Dean? Dean, is that you?_ ”

“Cas,” A long, easy exhale sweeps right out of Dean’s lungs, and his eyes fall closed without him even realizing.

“ _Dean...I missed your voice._ ”

A chuckle bubbles up past his lips and suddenly a wide-eyed and very much awake Jack is in front of him, gripping the edges of Dean’s flannel and looking like he’s about to buzz out of his skin.

“Likewise, buddy. Like you wouldn’t even believe.”

“ _Oh, I think I can imagine,_ ” there’s a touch of a smirk in Cas’s voice and Dean has never wanted to kiss the other boy more than he does in this instant. It’s a wonderfully excruciating kind of want and he’s pretty sure it’s another one of those things he’ll remember for the rest of his natural born life. 

Taking Jack’s hand, Dean leads them to the stairs because, well...it still feels weird to talk to Cas like this in front of Mom and Sammy. No matter how much they pretend not to listen. Plus, he kinda...he kinda wants some time with just the three of them while he can get it.

“ _How are you two?_ ”

Dean chuckles and squeezes Jack’s hand, “We’re doing good, Cas. But, uh…” Jack squeezes back, “miss you like crazy, man.”

They round into Dean’s (their) bedroom, and only when the door quietly clicks closed behind them does all of the day’s tension drain from Dean’s shoulders.

“ _I miss you both, too. So much._ ”

He clears his throat because if he starts in on all the things he wishes for and misses he’ll never be able to stop, he’ll just sob until he dies of dehydration.

Instead, he clicks the phone to speaker, “Say ‘hi,’ Jack.”

“Cas!” Jack squeals, grabbing the cordless and squeezing it like it’s Cas’s hand, “I miss you so much, Cas! We went to the beach and Dean took a lot of pictures to show you—you’d love the beach, Cas, it’s so pretty! The water was really cold but Dean held my hand so that was okay and then we started listening to Pink Boys in the car and I also got a piece of a shell at the beach—it was all tangled up in seaweed, so Sam washed it off for me and—Oh =! Sam and I watched a movie called _Tangled_ and it was really funny and Sam is really nice and I think you’d really like him and we made cookies and cinnamon buns and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Jack’s face is getting redder and redder by the second, and Dean brushes an eyelash off his cheek, “Easy, tiger. You gotta take a breath sometimes.”

“ _That all sounds wonderful, Jack,_ ” Cas says, voice warm enough to have Dean melting back into the bed a little where he and Jack are perched, “ _I’m so—_ ” there’s a noise in Cas’s throat that he muscles through, and now _this_ is the most Dean has ever wanted to kiss Cas, “ _so glad you’re doing okay._ ”

“How are you, Cas?” Jack chirps, settling back into Dean’s lap in a way that makes Dean think the kid’s gonna be dead asleep in less than fifteen minutes, “What did you do today?”

There’s a long enough pause in which Dean checks that the line didn’t go dead before Cas speaks again.

“ _I’m...fine. I didn’t do much today._ ” 

Dean’s skin prickles.

“Well, how ‘bout yesterday,” Jack asks around a yawn.

“ _I, uh, I didn’t do much yesterday, either. I’m sorry._ ”

Jack chuckles, tucking his cheek in against Dean’s chest, “Don’t be sorry, Cas. Maybe you’ll do something cool tomorrow. Hey, maybe your family could take you to the beach, too?”

Dean kisses the crown of Jack’s head and huffs a laugh that’s anything but happy before Cas is forced to respond, “Your eyes are getting droopy, dude. Hey, maybe Cas can tell you the angel story again?”

“Yea- _ah_!” Jack chirps around another, more forceful yawn.

Cas hardly gets to the part where Castiel storms the gates of Hell before the kid’s eyes finally flutter shut, and all his muscles seem to go slack at the same time.

“Mission accomplished, Cas,” Dean chuckles, easing Jack to his side and under the covers, “out like a light.”

Dean’s laughter dies at the Cas’s breath crackling wetly through the receiver.

“ _Dea—I just—_ ”

A sob shakes out of his friend and the momentary peace goes up in smoke. Dean kinda wants to die, it hurts so bad to hear and not be able to do anything. 

“Aw, sweetheart…” but the sentence fades out on Dean’s tongue, too. What can he say?

_Not a goddamn thing._

“ _Dean, I c-can’t do this—_ ” another broken cry “ _I can’t just-just talk to you o-once in a while and not…_ ”

Dean wipes at his burning eyes with his wrist then runs shaky fingers through Jack’s hair, “I know, Cas. I-I know—”

“ _No, I—you have Jack and I have…nothing. I-I have_ nothing _, Dean. Luc took it all—then my family...they took the rest_.”

“Y-You’re right, sunshine. I know this is all way harder for you, but I promise, we’ll figure it out. Okay? We’re not gonna be kids forever, right? We’ll find a way together eventually. You, me, and Jack. This time we’ll get to do whatever we want, whenever we want—that includes staying together.”

Another pause.

“ _...eventually._ ”

Cas’s voice drops like a brick, running raw and exhausted across the miles between them. It’s the same voice that seemed to be shouting across a canyon when Cas wouldn’t get out of bed at Luc’s.

Dean’s hand freezes where it’s still tangled in the kid’s hair. A breath punches out of him because—oh, fuck no.

“Cas, are you…” there’s only rattling breath on the other side, “a-are you hurting yourself again?” Silence. Dean buries his teeth in his lower lip to keep a whimper locked in, “You are. Aren’t you?”

“ _...Dean, I…_ ” a hiccupped sob cuts Cas’s words and the sound rattles its way right down to Dean’s bones, “ _Please don’t be mad I-I-I don’t want you to be mad I just—_ ”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean sits up straighter, forcing a calmness he hopes is convincing, “Shhh. It’s alright, buddy. I’m not mad—never mad. Okay? Do you believe me?”

A soft sniffle, “ _Yes._ ”

“Good. Because I’m tellin’ the truth. I’m not mad. I just...I just want you to be happy, sweetheart—and I know how stupid that sounds but—that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Okay? And I’d give anything to help you be happy. Fucking _anything_ , alright?”

“ _Alright._ ”

“Just...please just promise me you’ll tell someone. Please? I won’t be there if…”

They both know how that story goes so Dean doesn’t say it. He can’t.

Cas lets out a breath, “ _Okay._ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _I promise._ ”

Dean realizes this is the first time Cas has ever lied to him.

But what else is there to do? Cas will tell ‘em or he won’t, and there’s shit-all that Dean can do about it from where he’s sitting. His stomach cramps, but he just balls up his fists prays with every atom.

After a small lull, Cas gives something that’s at least in the same ballpark as a chuckle, “ _Can, uh, can you sing to me? I know it’s stupid and if you don’t wan—_ ”

“I said anything, didn’t I?” A small smile pulls at Dean’s lips, “No idea why you want to hear my shitty singing but—”

“ _You know how much I like to hear your voice._ ”

Even now, how is it so easy for Cas to just go right out there and say all the smooshy, gooey stuff that Dean only ever thinks. He scratches at his burning cheeks, “Heh. Alright, weirdo,” _I adore you_ “What do you wanna hear?”

“ _‘Tangerine,’ please._ ”

Dean smirks down at his lap, twirling one of the sweatpants strings between his fingers, “Thought about this a lot, huh?” He teases.

“ _Yes._ ”

Dean gulps, letting his smile loose since it’s only him that knows it’s there.

“Alright, here goes…” he says, “ _Measuring a summer's day, I only find it slips away to grey._

_The hours, they bring me pain_ ,” There’s shuffling of fabric or sheets or something and Dean closes his eyes. He can picture Cas snuggling down into blankets that tuck up under his chin, dark hair brushing a pillow behind him. He wonders if Cas is closing his eyes too, or staring a wall and trying not to cry, “ _I was her love, she was my queen, and now a thousand years between…_ ” 

Dean’s not even into the second verse when soft snuffling hums through the phone. He tries Cas’s name once, twice and smiles at the first outright snore.

“Alright, I get it. I’m just boring you now,” He stays on the line, just listening to all of Cas’s tiny sleeping noises, long enough that it’s probably creepy—but it’s hard to give a fuck because it’s _Cas_. Who knows when’s the next time he’ll get to hear this? 

When his own blinks grow farther and farther apart, Dean sighs and accepts the tension crawling back up into his shoulders. So much for his post-dishwashing peace, “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love ya.”

Cas grunts, mumbles…something. Dean thinks it’s ‘I love you,’ but he can’t be sure he’s not just hearing what he wants to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3


	18. "Wish You Were Here"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! Can't believe how close we're getting to the end! This week's chapter is a little shorter, but I hope you enjoy :)  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

_“Dean…” Cas groans beneath him, “Please…”_

_Dean’s fingers skim across the quivering muscles of Cas’s stomach, watching them jump with each thrust. Bending down to taste the fine sheen of sweat on Cas’s cheek, he purrs, “Does it feel good, sweetheart? Love you so much. Do I make you feel good?”_

_“Please, Dean. Want...please…”_

_Blunt nails bite into Dean’s shoulders, not enough to be painful but more than enough to really_ feel _. He works up his rhythm, sliding in and out of Cas’s smooth channel. Everything’s so slippery--so fucking tight around him. He wants to stay like this forever, brain and body all wrapped around Cas. Kiss and hug and kiss a little more, those almost-chapped lips stuttering around a noiseless ‘O’ not an inch from his face._

_“What do you want, sunshine? Do you love me? Tell me it feels good for you, too.”_

_Cas’s voice breaks around another cry, scrawny arms pulling at Dean desperately._

_The hand that had been swirling in the downy hairs below Cas’s bellybutton drags lower, finally encircling where the other boy is heavy and throbbing between his legs._

_“Dean!”_

_Squeezing, pumping, thrusting. Dean is losing himself quickly, spiraling into that blinding awesomeness that he knows is waiting for them both._

_“Attaboy, cupcake. Show him who’s boss.”_

_Like a skip in one of the VHS tapes, Dean screeches to a stop mid-thrust. His eyes snap over his shoulder and all the fire in his veins turns to ice._

_“L-Luc?”_

_Ass-naked, Luc is sprawled back in that stupid chair he always has in the Playroom, the one that screams bloody murder when he slides it across the concrete floor. The man’s legs are spread in a wide ‘V’ facing Dean, his big hand stroking his cock. Squelching, wet sounds echo in the room. Luc’s balls swing down to his ankles and slap the bottom rung of the chair with each shove into his fist._

_“Come on, you heard the man,” he sneers, “Show our angel just how much he_ wants _you.”_

_“I--”_

_Suddenly Cas comes back into focus--but the flushed cheeks and fluttering eyelids are gone. He’s still groaning and calling out Dean’s name, but fat tears are streaming down his temples._

_“Dean, please! Stop! Want you to stop, Dean! You’re hurting me!”_

_White hot lashes suddenly tear across Dean’s ass, and instead of pulling out he screams and buries himself further._

_“Cas!”_

_More lashes claw into his flesh, but Luc hasn’t moved from his seat. When Dean manages a glance behind him--he finds his own naked body and wild eyes are staring back. This other Dean has his teeth bared, snarling and jerking himself off with the hand not clutching at the switch. Arm swooping back, the clone lands another lash across Dean’s raw backside. A fresh wave of fire bites across his ass, stealing his breath away._

_When his gaze falls back to Cas, his friend isn’t writhing around in pleasure--he’s trying to get away from Dean. Dean drops Cas’s limp cock from his hand, and manages to get a hand to his friend’s cheek between strikes._

_“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” his own tears now streaming down Cas’s cheeks, making yet another salty mess between them, “I never wanted to hurt you! Please believe me! I never wanted any of this!”_

_Cas’s head thrashes from side to side, eyes squeezed so tight that blood vessels are popping around his pale lids. Another scream punches out of his friend and it’s like he can’t even hear Dean._

_“Didn’t you, though?” Not Dean laughs, the switch coming down twice more in rapid fire, “It felt good a second ago, didn’t it? You’ve never fucked him, but you know you want to.”  
“No, I--” Dean breaks off on a howl, head thrown back and eyes nearly as tightly closed as Cas’s, “Not like--”_

_“‘Not like this’? Not like this! Not like this! Not like this!” Not Dean cackles as he strikes, “This is all you know, Dean. This is all you and Cas will ever know.”_

Dean bursts into consciousness like a bullet train colliding with a brick wall, body heaving upright before he’s even awake. Eyes opening like the snap of a tape measure, Dean blinks and pants and blinks some more into the darkness of the bedroom until his eyes adjust to the glow of Woody and Buzz.

_Speaking of Woody._

Just as before, his sheets and pajamas are sweat-soaked and chilly beneath him--except, he’s almost painfully hard in his boxers and a sticky wet patch clinging to him. Dean can’t quite catch his breath for a haze of however-many minutes, any one of a million reasons to blame for the burning in his chest. The dream isn’t much more than wisps now, only the panic blaring like a mariachi band in his head is left. He tilts his hips away from Jack ( _Jesus, how does the kid just sleep through everything now?_ ), and tries to shift and untwist the soggy fabric of the boxers, anything to take a little pressure off. No dice.

Slowly, Dean eases onto his other side so his back is to the kid and all his business is as far away as possible. He squeezes his eyes shut, but it all still aches in that so-good-not-enough way that hasn’t happened in forever. He squirms.

_Just ignore it. Just ignore it. Just ignore it._

He squirms again.

Baby blues and dark lashes fanned over cheeks that are so soft when they’re all squashed up against Dean’s neck. Long fingers unconsciously twitching against his collarbone, accompanied by a little pink tongue poking out to slick chapped lips. Eye crinkles like sunbeams appearing with the rare gummy smile.

Fuck this.

With a grunt, Dean swings his feet over the edge of the bed and gently rearranges the covers in his wake. He waits another beat to make sure Jack is sound asleep--he is--before slipping out the door. Narrowly forgetting his glasses before remembering just in time.

Even with only the sliver of light from the downstairs windows, Dean has gotten better at remembering the layout. Thank fuck the bathroom is on the opposite end of the hall from the bedrooms.

The door closes behind him with a click that sounds like crashing cymbals in the otherwise silent house and the painful spikes in his eyes when he flips on the light aren’t too bad for a six second distraction. But when Dean’s eyes fall back on his reflection, well, there’s not a whole lot of good running through his brain. 

Granted, he’s not nearly as washed-out looking as he had been that first morning in the hospital, but that’s not saying much. He’s definitely got more pink in his cheeks like Jack does since they’ve had three square meals for a while now, and who knew a diet of shit that isn’t box macaroni and Cheerios could actually give someone a little bit of a glow? His face has filled out a tad, not so sharp in all the wrong ways. Softer, squishier. Would Cas like his face now? Has Cas’s face changed, too? He can’t really picture his best friend without those cheekbones that jutted out and made him look like a skeleton in bad lighting, or eyes that aren’t always at least a little purple around the edges. What would Cas look like with pink cheeks? What would he look like with bright eyes that aren’t veiny and exhausted even after he’s just woken up? What would he look like with a haircut by someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing?

Dean runs a hand through his own freshly cut hair. God it looks weird. Good weird, but still weird. It’s way shorter on top than how Luc liked it and, though Jack still liked his a little longer, Dean wouldn’t want it any other way. The lady who cut it even did it up in this off-to-the-side style, and he kinda liked it so he’s been replicating it as best he can. God, it’s so soft. He had no clue his hair could be this damn _fluffy_.

Would Cas think it looks nice? Maybe even...kinda handsome? Dean doesn’t realize he’s got the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips until he catches on the idiot in the mirror--but he’s all alone and half-awake so it’s super hard to care all that much. 

_Cas._

Yeah, Cas smiles always get a pass.

The adrenaline has all but drained from his veins, and in the floaty feeling of losing that rush Dean just lets himself drift with it. His weight resettles as he leans against the counter and--oh. Oh, yeah. That’s why he’d come in here.

Pushing his hips forward a bit, the muscles in his thighs jump a little at just the brush of his tented boxers against the cool, rounded edge of the counter. It both cools him down and heats him up and if that isn’t just the kinda thing his fucked up brain is craving right now, what is?

“Mmm,” his own soft hum is low and deep, rumbling up from the bottoms of his lungs. He’s pretty sure it’s not nearly loud enough to wake anyone up, but he turns on the overhead fan--vent?--just to be safe. Back to Cas.

Maybe the next time he sees Cas, his friend will run (on a well-healed leg) to hug him. 

_Is that too sappy and weird? Fuck, probably--but it’s my fantasy, dammit._

Cas will come running up to him, maybe he’ll be diving in for a hug so fast he’ll have to do that cute little hop up on his tip-toes to wrap his arms around Dean’s neck. He could squeeze the life out of Dean and Dean would just die a happy man. Jesus, he misses those warm arms that are way stronger than they’re stringiness makes them look. Maybe Cas’s arms have filed out, too, since they went topside.

Another grunt hits the back of his teeth as his hips grind forward again. He’s already hard as nails and for some reason the cool, counter edge feels like all that’s tethering him to the ground. It’s all that’s keeping him from floating off into nothing--so he rolls with it.

Cas with thick, healthy arms is just…

_Hot as fuck is what it is. That little heater body squeezin’ us close, keeping me right there--right in his arms. Right where he wants me._

And maybe he’d press his face into Dean’s neck like he always does right before they do their stuff together. Cas would skim the soft point of his nose up to Dean’s jaw, pressing a kiss to the bolt, to his cheek. He can almost feel Cas’s smile at the way Dean shivers--because he knows he always shivers at neck stuff whether he’ll admit it or not--and the closed-mouth chuckle that would buzz against his skin.

Cas would call him ‘love’ in that older-than-his-age way of his, he’d say all his feelings because he’s not chickenshit like Dean who can barely stumble over ‘I love you.’ But Cas would say everything and know that Dean’s kisses mean what he can’t say. Cas would love him anyway.

Hand slipping down over the wet front of his boxers, Dean’s head tilts back, mouth going loose as his thoughts of Cas burst to life behind his lids. Each little stroke he teases with over the sticky fabric sends sparks crackling all the way out to his toes and fingertips.

“ _Caaass_ …” It takes him a second to realize he’d even made a sound but, God, does it even matter? As long as he keeps quiet and doesn’t wake up the whole damn house, this is the best he’s felt in a while and he’s gonna soak it all up before it disappears again, “Fuck...”

Dean would put his hands on Cas’s hips, practically plaster their fronts together so all he can feel is the other boy. He’d slip his hands right under the hem Cas’s t-shirt, not to hike it up just to feel the warm brush of skin--feel the goosebumps pebble when Cas presses against his fingers. The other boy might scratch through Dean’s new haircut with blunt nails, make it all messy, make his head buzz with the sensation.

In a quick decision, Dean snakes a hand under his waistband. He cups himself through slippery strokes that are only getting faster.

_Yeah, yeah, yeah._

Cas would guide him into a kiss by his hair, but he’d be nice about it. He wouldn’t just tug at Dean’s head, yank him around like a ragdoll until Dean surrendered. Cas wouldn’t pull so hard Dean’s head hurts, he wouldn’t wrap big paws around his skull and shove his dick all the way to the back of Dean’s raw throat--

_Stop it. Fuck, gotta stop that._

Dean’s hand stutters, almost to a stop. He’s panting a little--but not in the fun way. He squeezes his eyes hard, just brushing his aching length with fingertips until he can get a lid on this thing. 

_Jesus Christ, okay, no more hair stuff. It’s alright, it’s alright. Moving on._

Lost in the pink-black behind his closed eyes, Dean scoops in a long breath and lets it fall back out a few seconds later. He pictures Cas--not flushed and kissy-lipped Cas, but sweatpants and soft smile Cas--standing next to him. His friend would rub small circles on his back, maybe hook his chin over Dean’s shoulder while he murmured a whole bunch of nothing that would feel like sunshine creeping under his skin. Cas would tell him to breathe deep and Dean would do it without question, would do almost anything Cas said because he knows Cas is one of the only people on this fucked-up planet that actually gives a shit whether Dean lives or dies. Dean would do whatever that sweet voice says because he knows his best friend loves him, too.

_Yeah, there we go._

Dean’s fingertips fan out a little more, starting up slow strokes this time that have his body temperature slowly lapping upward.

He loves when Cas touches him like this. Well, he loves when Cas touches him in anyway--period. But this, this is just for them. It’s the weird, little shit that Cas does to him that drifts to the surface of Dean’s sleepy brain. He remembers the other boy kissing his shoulders one time. They weren’t doing much of anything--was Dean cooking? Yeah, he was just standing over the camp stove with some bread toasting in the pan when Cas swooped up beside him. The weirdo started kissing over his t-shirt-covered shoulders like it was his mission to reach every square inch...but it was fucking heaven served-up on a silver platter. Of course, being the asshole he is, Dean had laughed it off (but he was more than happy to let Cas keep doing it as long as his little heart desired). He’s pretty sure it’s in his top five favorite Cas memories of all time.

Hand sliding in a little further once again, Dean finally meets the sticky, soft-hard mess in his boxers. God, yeah. This is a much better train of thought.

Dean imagines his bedroom down the hall, empty except for him and Cas. What would it be like to be all tucked up with Cas under actual sheets? They could even have two pillows if they wanted. They’d probably only end up using one pillow, and Dean could lay his head on Cas’s chest and listen to the other boy’s breathing. He still wants there to be two pillows, though--because then it’s their choice, and no one else’s. He’d get Cas all bundled up next to him in the blankets so they’d finally be warm the whole night through.

Maybe Cas would draw Dean in closer, kiss his shoulders again until the other boy meets the dip of his neck and kisses a hot trail up his jaw. Cas could wrap slender fingers around Dean’s hips and pull him close enough that he’d feel the sharp presses of Cas’s hipbones against his own. His friend would guide the movements, pressing his own thickness against Dean’s until they were both moaning like wild animals. Fingertips would dig in, holding him tight but without being too rough. Enough so Dean could feel it--be grounded by it, but not make it hurt like Luc would. Cas wouldn’t grip so hard it bruises, nails digging in to litter black and blue half moons across Dean’s skin. Cas wouldn’t just thrust up into Dean with a leer, squeezing his waist so hard he worries that he’ll get his bones crushed one of these days--

_Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!_

Dean’s eyes wrench open, hand tearing up and out of his boxers to grip the counter with white knuckles. When did his shirt get so tight, when did the grey start edging in? Eyes stinging, he drags them up to his reflection and--When the fuck did he start _crying_? 

His breaths get shorter, his skin tighter the longer he looks at his stupid face.

_Cas wouldn’t do that. It’s okay, it’s over. It’s okay because Cas wouldn’t do that._

Cas wouldn’t do any of that shit because he’s a good person. So much better than any of this and yet he’s hurting worst of all. What kind of universe is that?

Dean squeezes his eyes shut again so he can’t see the tears he knows are coming.

This is pathetic. Here he is bawling all alone in his family’s bathroom at who-fucking-knows o’clock in the morning, dick getting softer by the second, hand still a mess with his filth. 

Fucking pathetic. 

_No wonder the Shurleys don’t want me anywhere near Cas._

Seconds melt into minutes and pretty soon Dean has no clue how long he’s just been standing in front of the bathroom sink, mind off somewhere as far away as it can get without leaving his body. He takes the deep breaths he knows Cas would want him to take, but he tries not to think about his friend at all because...fuck, he’s not even sure why. He just knows it’ll hurt more than it’ll help right now. 

When his eyelids finally draw back, the world looks brighter than it had when he’d closed them, all the angles sharper and grittier. The too-realness of it plunges back into darkness when Dean hits the light switch, slipping out of the bathroom as quietly as if he’d never been there at all.

By the nightlight’s glow, Dean shucks the disgusting, cold boxers and sweat-soaked t-shirt. He mops up any of the tacky leftovers on his skin before wadding up the clothes and stuffing them to the bottom of his and Jack’s hamper.

He almost feels human again by the time he’s cleaned up, only a little less like a wolf crawling into bed with a sheep when he finally pulls back the covers and slides in beside Jack.

The kid shifts at the jostling, one sleep-heavy arm flopping over Dean’s stomach and he practically buries his face under Dean’s arm. 

It’s warm and familiar and fucking adorable if he’s being honest--which, it’s kinda hard to lie to yourself in the dark of the night.

Dean closes his eyes and lets himself think of Cas again. He doesn’t picture one specific memory, just a jumble of baby blues in every shade of emotion. It’s warm and familiar and fucking adorable too, and it’s how Dean falls back into a shitty sleep.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Before even opening his eyes for the second time that morning, Dean’s already thinking of Luc. It’s not surprising, exactly. He thinks of Luc way more than he’ll ever tell anyone--yeah, that includes waking up to thoughts of the motherfucker--and he just hopes Jack doesn’t have the same thing.

This morning though is just...worse.

He’s pretty sure he dreamt of Luc the night before, and the evidence of fresh pajamas is enough to tell him that his little exploration into alone time was, sadly, real. Everything is murky--but what else is new? His neck has a weird cramp and his right arm is spiky with pins and needles where it’s pinned under his body. He doesn’t bother to move it.

Jack’s giggles float up the stairs and through the crack under the closed bedroom door, the sound intertwined with Sam’s rumbly, morning voice and Mary’s smooth, chirpy one. They sound happy. Good.

At least someone is.

The comforter and sheets are warm and heavy and fit Dean’s mood to a ‘T.’ Slipping a little lower, Dean tucks the covers just under his chin like he would tuck them under Cas’s to keep his friend from getting cold. 

Everything slips back into that wishy-washy haze that it had been down in the basement. 

_Looking down at his and Luc’s feet nested together as Luc rams into from behind--hairy toes curling next to his own._

_Cas’s thick thighs bracketing Jack’s little face, shaking and trying to not collapse on top of him. His hips twitching, his traitorous body wanting the tongue lapping at him even while the rest of his being is screaming for it to end._

_Dean holding Jack as the kid sinks down onto his cock, guiding him down as slowly as he thinks Luc will let them. Little hands squeezing his shoulders, little face crumpled up and red-raw, almost purple now. Luc barks something at them--_ Dean doesn’t remember what anymore but it doesn’t really matter _\--and Jack bottoms out, body jerking as his insides try to force Dean out. He had mumbled something like ‘I’ve gotcha, it’s okay’ but it wasn’t. Especially when Luc had gotten out the matches and wax sticks. Just another raindrop lie in an ocean of ‘em._

It’s all still there in his brain. Maybe it’ll never leave. His life and memories a mist that surrounds him, inescapable and equally untouchable. 

There doesn’t seem to be much point in getting up out of bed, the memories will follow him wherever he is anyway. So Dean doesn’t move a muscle.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

He doesn’t get out of bed for days. Not really out, anyway. He only ventures out once, when Mary won’t leave him alone until he agrees to take a walk ‘just around the block’ with her. It’s physically painful not to yell at her the entire time, and he doesn’t hear a word she says. 

He slips back to his room immediately after.

Jack comes in to bring him plates of food, sometimes staying long enough to curl up and nap in Dean’s arms, and sometimes only long enough to kiss his temple ( _just_ like Cas would do for either of them) before leaving again.

**||||||||||||||||||||**

The roll of his stomach must’ve been what woke him up. When did he fall asleep anyway? Doesn’t matter, he’s awake now and feeling almost as bad as some of the mornings after Luc put them through one helluva night in the basement. With the nausea, headache, and disgust oozing out of every pour, all that’s missing is a breathtaking burn in his ass. Small graces, right?

Dean nuzzles closer into his pillow, trying to block out the sun that’s way too high in the sky for it to be morning anymore.

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Even the pounding heartbeat in his head doesn’t stop his whole body from snapping to attention. He’s out of his bed like a shot, dizzy and woozy and probably gonna throw up when the adrenaline fizzles out but who gives a shit?

The bright--Jesus Christ, were they always goddamn _spotlights_?--hall lights have Dean squinting and fumbling to get to the phone cradle he knows is on his mom’s nightstand. Blindly, he stumbles into her room, only just noticing that he’d probably be moving a fuck ton faster if his sweatpants weren’t all sleep-twisted around his bowed legs.

_Ring! Ring! Ri--_

“Hello? Cas? Cas?”

There’s nothing but static on the other end and Dean’s almost in tears. He missed it? How long was it ringing before he woke up? Didn’t his mom, or Sammy, or, hell, even Jack hear the damn thing? Who knows when Cas will call again? Tomorrow? A week? Eight months? Nev--

Then he hears it.

The fuzzy hum of the static is clear and sure ain’t a dial tone. The buzz intermixed with another soft sound. Breathing.

“Buddy, is that you?”

More breathing and more silence. Of course it’s Cas. Dean spent fucking years less than twenty feet from the boy, he’d be able to pick that beautifully familiar sound out in a tornado.

“Cas?”

The breathing stutters, raspy and Dean also knows that sound, too. Knows it too well. Cas is trying not to cry.

“Sweetheart, just lemme hear your voice…” Oh God, it’s the only thing he wants right now. That and maybe to not have been born, but no take-backsies on that so here they are, “What’s wrong?”

The rasp gets thicker but only staticky silence follows.

And follows. 

And follows.

For a second Dean almost hangs up because he must be going nuts, right? He’s talking to fucking static because he can hear _breathing_? He’s losing his grip on reality and he’s spiraling--that’s got to be it, right? Fuck, he’s probably been spiraling longer than he’d like to guess--

The crackle of a throat being cleared shatters all his thoughts and he plummets back down to this miserable planet.

“Cas?”

There’s another pause that takes twenty years off Dean’s life before finally— _finally_ …

“ _I love you, Dean.”_

“C-Ca—” 

_“I love Jack, a-and...I love you. So much._ ”

“I--”

_Click!_

Dean’s mind, body and soul screech to a halt, mouth frozen around words that have already died.

The dial tone screeches like a banshee in Dean’s ear, but the phone stays right next to his ear, muscles too locked-up to move it.

_I love you, too, Cas._

Dean blinks at the little framed picture hanging above the nightstand, seeing it but not. 

He’s here, but not.

_I don’t know what the fuck Cas is thinking—but it ain’t good._

That’s not true. 

He knows exactly what Cas is thinking--he just prays to all that is holy that he’s wrong.

Steps pad up behind him, little vibrations flitting under his bare feet. Someone taps his shoulder and he must be the one moving in slow motion, not them because they tap his shoulder again. 

“How do I call him back?”

They aren’t conscious words, he doesn’t even realize he was the one who said them until he spins around and Mary is looking at him with a furrowed brow.

“What?”

Slow motion turns to flash-flood-fast and suddenly Dean can’t move quick enough. His hands fumble with the buttons of the cordless, thumbs slipping in all different directions even though he doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

“ _Goddamit_ , how do I call him back?” Dean snaps, eyes glued to the phone like he can will it to do his bidding.

Mary’s eyes go wide, stunned enough that anger doesn’t even seep into her expression quite yet.

“Uh, hit ‘redial.’”

Dean smashes the button and then the phone is tucked back against his ear, “Come on, come on, _come on_ …”

It’s a thousand and one rings before a way too fucking chirpy voice finally answers, “ _Hello, you’ve reached the Shurley residence._ ”

“Hi, hello, I-I’m Dean and I--”

“ _We can’t come to the phone right now, but if you’ll leave your name and number we’ll get back to you as soon as we can. God be with you._ ”

‘No, no, no! No! _Fuck!_ ” Dean hollers. He can _feel_ the blood flowing in his veins, electric and hot with panic. He smashes his thumb on the redial button again.

“Honey…?” but Dean is so far past listening he hardly even hears her.

It’s fewer rings this time, though it still feels like a century before a much clearer voice comes through, “ _This is Naomi. Hello?”_

That voice may be a little less chirpy, a little cooler than the voicemail but it’s the very fucking same alright.

“Mrs. Shurley? I-I need to talk to Cas.”

There’s a pause. _Like mother like son, huh?_

Then a sigh.

“ _This is Dean? Correct?_ ”

“Yes. Please, I need to talk to Ca--”

“ _Castiel isn’t home right now._ ”

He was gonna be polite. On his mother’s life, Dean would swear up and down that he had every intention of laying on all the charm he learned with Luc to reach his friend--but it just slips out.

“Bullshit!” Fists tighten at his side and around the phone, “He called me from this number two minutes ago.”

Another pause and a sigh like the lord must really be testing Mrs. Shurley today.

“ _Now, Dean..._ ” there’s that same talking-down voice that Dean got fucking sick of almost as soon as they went topside. He’s not a fragile puppy and he’s not a toddler so it’d be just awesome if people dropped that bullshit tone, “ _I know you’ve been through a lot. Believe me when I say that I sympathize with your trauma_ ,” Dean’s actually gonna kill this woman, “ _you and my son and that other child--_ ”

“His name is Jack.”

_“...right. Jack. As I was saying, you and Castiel went through a harrowing ordeal...and that’s why we as a family have decided that it’s in Castiel’s best interest to try to move on. To heal. Do you understand? With love and God’s guidance, we’ll help our son become whole again._ ”

Dean doesn’t have the words. Are there words? Where does he even start with that? 

Fuck it, he doesn’t have time for this fight--he needs to talk to Cas.

“I--yeah, see, I get that but I’m worried about him and I--”

“ _Oh, I am too, Dean_ ,” if she’s trying to go for genuine she’s missing the mark by a mile, “ _As his my mother it’s my job to worry about Castiel’s well-being. Physically, mentally, and most importantly, spiritually. Right now, Castiel needs time to process. And he needs space, especially from...reminders of his captor._ ”

Dean’s stomach has sunk so sickeningly low he might fucking trip on it. He never thought about it like that. Did...did Dean remind Cas of Luc? 

_No. No. Cas said he loved me. He says he misses my voice--misses_ me _. I can’t remin--no. She’s wrong._

“Mrs. Shurley, I need to talk to Cas--”

There’s a little bit more grit in her next long, interrupting sigh, “ _I understand that that’s what_ you _need, Dean. I really do. But is that really what’s best for Castiel? I think letting him continue talking with you is only making it that much harder for him to move on, to let the Spirit work within him. I’m looking out for my son’s emotional well-being, Dean_ ,” another pause, “ _...not to mention his physical safety.”_

_Fuck._

Yup, that one hurts. 

Badly. 

And Dean’s pretty goddamn sure that that’s exactly why she said it.

“I…”

Mrs. Shurley’s tone softens ever so slightly and he’s pretty sure it’s the kind of voice that she believes is soothing. It sure as hell is _not_.

“ _I promise, Dean. We are making sure Castiel receives all the love, support, and prayers that he needs to help him overcome this. And in California he’ll have a new start--free of all this vileness_.”

If it’s even possible, his stomach drops down to his toes and Dean’s gonna throw up as soon as his muscles quit being made of stone.

“C-California?”

Another staticky sigh. Dean’s getting really fucking sick of her sighs. He’s feeling really fucking sick in general, but that’s beside the point.

“ _What Castiel needs is fresh air, some sunshine_ ,” _But he’s my sunshine..._ “ _and to leave all this behind him. And if you really want what’s best for him, you’ll let him heal. Privately. With people who care about him._ ”

“But I--Please, Mrs. Shurley.”

“ _I’m sorry, Dean. But this is what’s best for everyone._ ”

_Click!_

The phone shatters just like the Walkman had when it hits the far wall of Mary’s bedroom, but Dean doesn’t see it. His blurry eyes are already buried in his palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3


	19. "Beast of Burden"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Beast of Burden" by The Rolling Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT WEEK IS THE LAST WEEK!!! I can't believe this is it you guys!! Next week I will be posting the final chapter and the epilogue!! If you've made it this far, thank you so much!!  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

With his knees tucked up to his chest, Dean stares at the closed bedroom door, willing it, the room, and himself to disappear. If there really is a god, he’d let Dean just fuck off into nothingness instead wallow in...whatever this is. This burning, aching, itching clawing, _hurting_ that’s shuddering through his body with each heaved breath.

“Dean, honey?”

_No. No. No. No more people, no more eyes._

Dean pulls his legs in a little closer. He’s not rocking (yet) but he may as well be. It’s pathetic and weak and the million other things Dean _knows_ he is and just sometimes forgets. Right outside his door, Sammy, his mom, Jack—they all need him, want him, are trying to call out for him. And here he is, in the goddamn fetal position in the corner of his bedroom surrounded by his cowboy poster, Batman sheets, and the bed he’d shoved in front of the door to barricade it.

“Dee, come on. Please open the door?”

But he can’t go out there. He can’t. They’re gonna ask him questions and he’s not gonna have anything to say. They’re gonna ask ‘Aw, Dean, what’s wrong?’ Where does even start with that one? If he starts down that road...would he ever be able to stop? It’s just so fucking _exhausting_ to even think about. What would happen if he just sat back and let the walls crumble? What would happen if he just let the memories and pain wash over him, soak into his skin until it’s all he’s made of? Would everything he doesn’t remember come back if he opened the floodgates? Would it be worth it to find out?

_Anything’s better than this._

“Dean? I—p-please come out here?” 

It’s the raw scratch to Jack's voice that has Dean up and off the floor. It hurts to hear more than it should compared to everything he’s been through—it hurts even worse knowing he’s the cause. Sweaty palms scraping up and down the thighs of his jeans, Dean rests a hand on the makeshift blockade...then stops. Toes twitching in his socks and spine rigid and itchy under his too-tight skin, Dean stares at what he can see of the closed door in the dark of the room. When did it get dark? How long has he been in here?

“N-No.”

Dean’s lungs spasm and he grunts out a cough. Jesus Christ—how long has he been silent?

“Why, Dean?”

It’s a fucking good question—that’s why Sammy’s always been the smart one. He can cut through the crap when he needs to while Dean is nearly drowning in it. Dean’s words, his whole life—Dean himself...it’s all a load of B.S. so deep and awful it’ll into seep everything it touches. Has _already_ corrupted everything it touches.

No, he can’t do it. He can’t go out there now.

His hand slips off the polished post of the bed, rising to scrape blunt nails against his scalp. That burning, aching, itching clawing, hurting only gets worse. Twisting deeper in his stomach until he doesn’t know how it’ll ever get untangled. Maybe it won’t. Maybe he’ll just feel like this forever. 

The longer he stays in here the harder it’s gonna be to look any of them in the eye ever again. But it’s too late now. If he goes out there the questions without good answers will still be waiting. Someone will ask ‘Aw, Dean are you okay?’ Fuck no, he’s not okay! Does he _look_ okay? Nothing is okay! He spends his days walking around like some half-person with no memories (that he wants), dragging his whole goddamn family down with him like the Titanic...and there’s no future to look forward to. No ‘better life’ waiting for him if he can just get through this part. Not anymore at least.

_Cas, baby, want you to hold my hand._

But Cas is going to California and that’ll be all. 

Dean’s knees, especially his fucked up one, aren’t doing so hot either. With a little, thick thud he lets his legs give way like they’ve wanted to since he stood up.

Cas’ll meet someone so much better...maybe even a pretty girl who’s gonna go to Heaven, too. His sunshine will probably meet the person he’s gonna marry out there, kiss them and tell them how special they are, how much he wants to be with them and forget about everything and everyone that came before.

_And he deserves that. I should be happy for him._

But Dean is so fucking far from happy it’s like he never even left the basement. At least, if he hadn’t left, he’d be crying his eyes out, yeah, but Cas’s solid arms would be wrapped around him. Cas would dot kisses along the back of his neck and say ‘It’s not your fault, love.’ because that’s how his best friend talks and—fuck, if Dean wouldn’t sell both his kidneys just to hear that weirdly formal voice in the room with him.

_Don’t be such a dumb slut._

Cas is going to California and he’ll forget all about Dean and...Dean will just have to learn how to live with that…

_For the rest of my life._

“C-Cas…” Dean nearly startles himself with the whimper bursting from his lips, a shaking sob rattling close behind, “I-It... _hurts…_ ”

He walks the length of the room, then back. Back and forth, back and forth. The room is out of focus, but he has his glasses on so what the fuck? The edges aren’t greying out or whatever—he’s well-aware of what that feels like by now. This is different. It doesn’t feel real, none of it does. Maybe he just doesn’t want it to be real.

He wants a hug. 

Really, _really_ fucking badly.

But the thought of his mom or Sammy or even Jack coming anywhere near his filthy little body—touching any skin Luc has already had his paws on...nope. Nuh-uh. _So_ not happening. Dean would rather skin himself with a cheese grader first.

“Dean, pl—?”

“I said _fuck off_!”

The tears burst in Dean’s throat instantly. What for the love of God is he doing? He just yelled at Jack. _Jack_. Like the kid hasn’t been through enough and now the one person he trusts is screaming at him. Where did that even come from? 

_I-It just came out…Why am I like this?_

He can feel his heartbeat in his face, dry, scratchy tears clawing at the corners of his eyes when his body slumps down into a different but equally lonely corner of the room,

_Jack’s gonna hate me, isn’t he? He should. And when Cas goes to California, when he grows up and realizes everything Luc and I did to him...he’s gonna hate me, too._

Dean’s legs slide to the side, and he’s nearly lying on the floor now when—

His foot hits something.

On a sticky blink, a familiar stack catches Dean’s eye. The notebooks. When had Sammy brought them back? How long had they been just sittin’ there? Righting his heavy limbs, Dean tucks in beside the nightstand, letting the cool piece of furniture take the weight of his head. It’s nearly the fetal position, but just enough _not_ for Dean to convince himself that it’s somehow less pathetic. He grabs the first notebook off the top, it’s the most recent one. Even in the little evening light coming in from the windows, he’d know the familiar ripped marks on the cover of this composition notebook. It was a new-ish one that he’d begged Luc for not too long before the cops showed up at Luc’s place. Or was it before Jack showed up? Does it even matter?

Dean’s stomach rolls, so he quickly opens up the notebook. His tired eyes are only skimming it over but, fuck, come to think of it...Dean’s never actually read these things. Sure, he wrote in them pretty regularly—but he never read anything over once it was all spelled-out in black and white. He’s not sure why he didn’t, but here he is flipping around in no real order.

**_…always “Mexico” this and “pretty señoritas” that. For a guy who likes dicking little boys, he sure gets gross talking about boobs a lot…_ **

**_…How do I even fucking_ ** **describe _the screams, Sammy? I don’t know what that sick fuck was doing to him..._**

**_…Jack said he wanted to go to Heaven and meet Castiel, but we said it’d be a long time before he’d get to. When he asked how come, Cas told him it would be a long time because you can only go to Heaven when you die. Then Jack said he wanted to die anyway so why couldn’t he just meet Castiel now..._ **

Dean’s eyes squeeze shut, the new wave of tears welling up along his lashes spill into warm trails on his cheek. He rips the page out with way more force than is actually needed to tear the thin paper.

_He took so much. He took so much from all of us._

The crumpled-up page disappears somewhere under the bed when he throws it, but Dean doesn’t bother to remember where.

**_…Luc brought down the steel wool again today…_ **

**_…I tried to get Cas to watch the movie—I figure anything to distract him, y’know?—but his eyes stayed on the wall the whole time. Sometimes I worry his brain’s just gonna quit one day. It’ll take one look around, see there’s nothing worth staying for, and Cas’ll just will himself to death. No cuts or nothing, just die of sadness…_ **

**_…I wish I could make him happy, but I know I’m not ever gonna be enough…_ **

_Rip!_ Dean grunts as the paper crackles in his fist. 

_Wasn’t enough for Cas. Still not enough to make Cas happy._

Dean throws the ball to join its own best friend and tosses the notebook to the side. After another heartbeat where he considers just hurling himself out the window into a smushy puddle on the dusky sidewalk below, he picks up the next notebook. This one has a plastic spiral holding its pages together.

**_…I had to tear his hands away from his arms or he would’ve just kept going. Had to hold his arms behind his back, Sammy. I had to do it or he woulda bled even more...but he screamed like he does when Luc holds him down. He screamed like_ ** **I _was Luc..._**

Dean’s brows furrow. He...doesn’t entirely remember this. This woulda only been a few years ago, wouldn’t it? Has his memory really tanked that much? There aren’t dates on the pages (surprise surprise), and it wouldn’t’ve really mattered anyway. 

**_…Cas spent almost an hour just kissing my neck. Then he spent another hour crying. But it was okay, I hugged him a lot and that seemed to make him feel better…_ **

**_…I’m freakin’ thrilled. It was touch-and-go there and I was starting to go bananas just talking to a mannequin...but anyway, yeah, Cas is actually talking to me now…_ **

**_…gave him the card I whipped together while he was in the tub. He said he liked bumblebees, so I drew some...I thought they kinda sucked but, Sammy, you shoulda seen his eyes light up like I’d given him a damn puppy. It was awesome…_ **

None of it’s ringing a bell. 

Furrow digging in between his brows, Dean reads more closely, flipping backwards through the book. 

**_…I wanna help him so bad, but I don’t know what I can do? Nothing. That’s all I got and that’s all I can do…_ **

**_… ~~Luc bought another one. But this one has little metal things on the tassels that claw into~~ But anyway, the mac and cheese is almost out so I’ve gotta ask Luc for more... _ **

When even a trace of grey and that nauseous feeling start to push in at the edges, Dean flips the page. As nice as spacing out would be right now...he can’t. His brain is itching now. 

This is as close as he’s ever come to remembering.

**_…even know why I’m telling you this. Guess it’s not hurting nothing, so why not? This morning, Cas was already awake when I woke up and he just kissed me. Kissed me right on the lips like it was nothing as I opened my eyes. He just kept kissing my cheeks. I still don’t know why he did it, but I never wanted it to end…_ **

**_…he made me try a peanut butter and bologna sandwich and, y’know what? I kinda liked it…_ **

**_…Cas knows all the words of ‘Ramble On’ now. Oh my god, Sammy—I’m so proud of that little weirdo…_ **

**_…Luc has talked about having a surprise for me soon. It’s kinda freaking me out though and my stomach has been in knots for a week…_ **

It hurts. Hurts so much...but it’s a good hurt, too. Seeing Cas in his mind’s eye, remembering the feel of him against his skin, touching him and loving him and giving as much as Dean gave.

It’s the best kinda hurt.

**_… ~~uses his teeth, then the fucker just laughs at me when I start squirming. I try not to give him the satisfaction—but then he just gets more toothy until I make a noise he likes~~ … _ **

**_…Fuck! Fuck! I don’t know what happened but it just—fuck, Cas’s ass, like, started to come out…??? It just—it was too dry and I don’t know and there was blood and he screamed so loud my ears are still ringing and..._ **

Dean claps a hand over his mouth to keep the bile from bubbling over, snapping to the next page. _Okay. Maybe skip that._

He grabs the next notebook, sweat gushing like a fucking fountain from his palms.

**_…screaming so much he put his hand over my mouth and then I almost couldn’t breathe. I don’t understand that’s...that’s where I_ ** **pee _? Why would anyone even think about putting anything in there? Why would he..._**

**_…He was kinda swaying like Dad does, but he wasn’t burping nearly as much. God it stings. It went on forever. I thought I might die before he finished. I kinda hoped I would…_ **

Wait. Was this...before the greying-out shit started happening? 

He looks at the cheap-ass cover of the notebook again with its generic picture of a frog. He doesn’t remember writing in this one at all. The beginning pages are a smattering of dice game scores and halves of grocery lists, things Luc must’ve written in it before he forgot about it in the basement. Before he’d ever bulldozed into Dean’s life.

**_…there’s so much of it everywhere. It’s all over my thighs when he gets done. I’ve never seen so much blood before. And what’s all that white slimy stuff mixed with it…_ **

Oh God. This is from before Cas, isn’t it?

**_…Maybe now I can go to sleep without seeing his face when I close my eyes…_ **

Oh. That’s right. These hadn’t always been letters to Sammy. He’d...forgotten about that. Throwing up words all over the paper used to be the only way he could get to sleep. The only thing that kept him from throwing up what little dinner was in him (sometimes, at least).

He can picture himself like Cas had been (years ago now, Jesus fuck): a huddled-up ball on the old bed, sobbing ‘til it hurt to breathe.

He shivers and flips to the next page.

**_…I don’t understand! Luc says he really likes me—says nice things about me then he does...that. I think he likes to hurt me, but I dunno why. Did I do something wrong…_ **

**_… I wanna cry it hurts so bad. But only sissy boys cry—not Winchesters…_ **

**_…Luc hits, but his are way harder than Dad’s..._ **

Dean freezes.

But it’s too late. He can’t _un_ read something, especially something like that.

**_…just wanna go home. Want to see Mom and Sammy and Dad again. I’ll do anything. Luc hits my face, too, not just my head. It stings so bad when he gets really angry and uses his belt. I wake up screaming because my face accidentally touched the pillow when I was sleeping…_ **

**_…I don’t understand. Luc does it all the time. I don’t know if he even drinks beer…_ **

No. No, that’s not right. His dad didn’t—his dad wouldn’t have done something like...Dean would remember something like _that_ , right? 

Right?

**_…got out a coat hanger and told me to quit bitching about going home. He said it wasn’t gonna happen and my Daddy wouldn’t want me back anyway—_ **

“Sammy!”

Dean only realizes he’s dropped the book when it gives a soft thump as it hits the floor.

_No. Nuh-uh._

“Dean?”

On legs that are just barely keeping him upright, Dean wobbles over to the barricading bed. By some weird surge in his body, the bed feels nearly weightless as he shoves it to the side. Maybe he’s just exaggerating since most every body part that isn’t shaking is totally fucking numb. 

Dean only opens the door a crack, but it’s enough to see the hallway. The carpet looks thick and uncomfortably rough where his Mom is sitting beside the door, Jack in her lap. The kid’s soft eyelids twitch in his sleep, face a little mottled with red edging his eyes.

_I made him cry._

Then Sammy is right up next to the crack, eyes veiny and wide and scared as shit, all because of his big brother. Dean didn’t even know it was possible for his chest to squeeze tighter, but wonders never cease, so it does.

His eyes immediately fall to his socked feet, his fingernails scratching into the back of his neck. Sammy looks like he’s nearly as shaky as Dean is. Go figure.

“C’mere.”

“Wait, whoa—” Mary makes a sound in her throat, awkwardly trying to scooch up the wall without waking up Jack.

_No. No. No. She can’t know—I can’t tell—_

“It’s okay, Mom.”

Dean hadn’t even realized he was starting to back into the room again until he feels the warm weight of Sammy’s hand coming down to rest on his shoulder. He halts his backward shuffle but can’t bring himself to look at anybody. If he looks in either of the eyes, he’s gonna lose it, like some psycho. Probably start yelling or breaking shit or maybe just collapse on the floor and stare at the ceiling until they gurney him away in a straitjacket—

“Sam…”

“ _Mom_ ,” Sammy’s grip tightens minutely, and his Adam’s apple bobs once, twice, before he takes in a slow breath. Dean can’t see much while not looking at their faces, but he’d bet a million dollars the puppy eyes are set to stun, “Please. J-Just...let me talk to him.”

There’s a beat of silence and Dean’s got half a mind to slam the door closed again when his mom suddenly sighs. Sammy pushes into the room and Mary doesn’t make a move to push in after him.

Dean closes the door again.

Then, on second thought, shoves the bed back to barricade it.

“Spent years hating locked doors,” Dean mumbles because he’s so fucking done with himself it’s ridiculous, “Go figure.” 

But Sam doesn’t laugh at him for it. Sammy doesn’t say anything. He’s just staring when Dean turns around to look at him.

Shit. What was he gonna say again?

His eyes fall back to the floor because once a coward always a coward—then he spies one of the notebooks just peeking past the nightstand where he’d been having his little freak-out.

Oh yeah.

“Sa—” the words click, syrupy and much too full in his throat. Why are his goddamn eyes already stinging? He hasn’t even said anything yet! 

_Ri-fucking-diculous._

“Yeah, Dee?”

“I...I, uh, don’t remember.”

Sammy scrunches his nose and—yeah, that’s fair. Dean not remembering shit isn’t exactly news around here anymore.

“I don’t…” Dean tries again, “I don’t remember before...and I feel like shit and I don’t...Sammy, I don’t remember _why_ I feel like shit.”

But that’s not true—not entirely at least. Dean can feel it. He can feel the images, the sounds, the smells all mixing together in his brain. It’s all waves crashing against rocks, the tide rising higher and higher. Dean’s pretty sure a part of his brain knows what he wants Sammy to make clear for him, but that part of his brain is being a little bitch and not sharing with the rest of the class.

_Please, Sammy. Please understand me. I need you to understand my stupid gibberish._

Sammy’s jaw tightens, but his brows stay furrowed.

“What are you talking about?”

“Did I do something wrong? I—Dad, he…” Dean bites his lip as he finally forces himself to meet wide, hazel eyes. There’s no point hiding the tears he knows are about to jump ship any minute. Sammy ain’t blind, “Did I deserve it? I-Is that why Luc took me?”

The tightness in his baby brother’s jaw dissolves into nothing as Sammy’s jaw goes slack, “You think— _What?_ ”

“I don’t—did Dad…?”

“You,” Sammy’s voice is pitched a whole octave higher, crackling a little around the edges, “You really don’t remember...do you?”

Dean’s jaw is quivering, his bottom lip stinging where it’s caught between his teeth, “I—”

He shakes his head. But then he nods.

_No. no, that can’t be right. I’m remembering wrong. I must be remembering wrong. ‘Cause if I’m not…_

But Sammy is getting paler by the second, none of that teenage rosiness in his cheeks anymore. Dean’s stomach is dropping from a twenty-six-story building at the speed of light.

“Dee,” Sammy's voice is wet and scrapes like gravel, “I didn’t wanna tell you.”

“Tell me w-what?”

It’s his baby brother’s turn to look for answers somewhere on the floor. Except, this time, when Sammy’s eyes find the strewn-out notebooks, his whole body slumps. Looks like he found his answers.

Like he’s trying not to startle Bambi, Sammy slowly leans down and picks up the closest notebook to the top with a gentle look.

“When you asked why Dad’s picture wasn’t on the wall...we figured it out—how bad your memory loss was,” Sammy brushes the cover of the notebook but keeps it held firmly shut, “I didn’t want to—on top of everything else you’re already going through…”

“What didn’t you want to tell me?”

But Dean already knows. He wonders if, even when he couldn’t outright remember, a piece of him always knew. He’ll never know for certain, but he’s pretty sure the answer is ‘yes.’

Sammy sighs and lets the notebook slap back down to the floor.

“Luc...Luc wasn’t the first person to hurt you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes squeeze shut but it’s still too late, and way too soon all at once. You can’t squeeze toothpaste back into the tube and there’s no going back now.

_I remember._

“Holy—”

**||||||||||||||||||||**

_“Crap!” Dean sets down the can of diced tomatoes (gross) he’s holding and goes over to his brother. Sammy’s little hands are scrabbling at the boxes of pasta that have fallen from their giant display, “Come on, Sammy! At least try to act like a big kid and quit breaking stuff!”_

_Scooping up the last of the boxes, Dean’s skin prickles at the eyes he can feel on them. What do all these other shoppers see when they look at them? Just two little snot-nosed brats who are probably in need of a good whoopin’? Yeah, that’d make sense. Best to just be as sneaky as they can be, so they don’t get thrown out or something._

_When he’s got the last box of clearance rigatoni in his hand, Dean looks over the dinged-up package. Looks pretty good, and Sammy likes spaghetti. Price is good, too. And if he makes the whole thing when they get home, they could stretch that out the whole weekend if Dad passes out again and forgets to make anything else._

_Dean’s hand slips into his pocket, fingertips brushing over the precious five one-dollar bills he’d scrounged out of the couch cushions before hauling Sammy off to the grocery store early that morning. On-sale noodles would definitely help get the most ‘bang for his buck’ as Grandpa Samuel used to say. Hey! And he could crush up the saltines from the back of the cupboard to make the whole thing thicker, too!_

_“Hey, Sammy, how’s pasta sound to—” Dean’s words peter off into nothing when his eyes fall back onto his little brother. Dark brown hair is flopped in his face, but the redness of his eyes is clear as day. Sammy hiccups a wet noise, but his shame-filled eyes stay on his little sneakers. Royally kicking himself, Dean drops the pasta box back on the display and closes the distance between them, “Aw, Sammy. Come on, you know I didn’t mean that. I think you’re a big kid.”_

_His little brother’s shoulders are trembling when Dean finally gets—what he hopes is—a comforting arm around them._

_“I’m sorry, Dee. I didn’t mean to.”_

_Scrubbing a hand over his own stupid face, Dean sets the shopping basket at their feet and pulls the little guy into his chest. Sammy’s arms immediately come up to squeeze around Dean’s waist._

_“I know you didn’t, dude. I shouldn’t’ve yelled.”_

_“You shouldn’t yell,” Sammy sniffs but doesn’t move to put an inch of space between them, “That was mean.”_

_“I know, I know,” Dean mumbles, tucking a few rogue strands behind the kid’s ear. He’s gonna need to give Sammy a bath when they get home. Hopefully, Dad’s done puking by bath time so the whole place doesn’t stink, “That was mean. I’m sorry.”_

_“It’s okay,” and like a memory wipe from that one movie with the aliens and guys in suits, Sammy pulls out of Dean’s arms and beams up at his older brother, “Can I go look at the toys now?”_

_Dean’s eyes flit up to the obnoxiously big signs over the aisles. The little section filled with crappy toys is a good four aisles away. Dean’s not crazy about letting Sammy just wander off that far away...but figuring out exactly what they can get might take a while._

_With a roll of his eyes, Dean sighs._

_“Fine. But we’re not getting anything. Not even those little sponge things that’re shaped like pills. Okay?”_

_Here come the puppy eyes._

_“Please! Come one, Dee! What if it’s, like, a super little toy?”_

_“No,” Dean feels the frustration bubbling up higher and higher in his chest. If he didn’t tamp it down soon, he’d bark at Sammy and make the kid cry all over again, “Now quit asking and just go look at the toys.”_

_Luckily, Sammy only gives an indignant huff before stomping off to the toys-he-can’t-have via the cereal section._

_Now Dean kinda wants to cry and that’s stupid and very un-Winchester of him, so he turns back to the noodle display. After dropping the least dented box into his basket, Dean shuffles back to the spaghetti sauces. God, is five dollars gonna cover the rigatoni and some pasta sauce? Would there be any left over for meatballs? Even just the cheap ones? Or are mashed up saltines gonna be the hardiest thing in they’re gonna be eating during their weekend at Dad’s?_

_He sets his basket back down and examines two different pasta jars on the bottom shelf. Holding one in each hand, sweat forms along the line of his hair as he studies the colorful labels. The right one is cheaper, but the left one says it’s ‘Italian sausage flavored.’ If he pays a little more and gets the sausage-flavored one, would he not have to spend money on the meatballs then? How much do meatballs cost again? He better forget the meatballs—they probably cost way more dollars than he remembers. But would just the ‘Italian sausage-flavored’ stuff fill them up enough without the--_

_“Tough choice, am I right?”_

_Startling hard, the glass jars slip, slips and then falls from Dean’s clammy hands. In the blink of an eye, both jars shatter on the aisle floor, red sauce splashing everywhere like blood on one of those crime shows his mom likes to watch._

_Dean’s stomach plummets to the floor along with them._

_“O-Oh no…”_

_What is he going to do? How much were the two jars anyway? If he pays with the money he brought, will there be any left over to buy their food? Will the five dollars even cover the spilled sauce? Will the police come and arrest him for stealing if he can’t pay—_

_“Hey, hey, hey,” the source of the rumbly voice is suddenly closer, sidling up close to Dean, “What’s wrong, kiddo?” He waves an absentminded hand at the mess Dean made,  
“They can clean this up no problem-o.” _

_Dean’s eyes finally tear away from the smashed jars (probably evidence they’ll bag up and use to put Dean in jail—just like the crime shows). The man beside him is tall, taller than his dad, and that’s saying something. But this man is paler than his dad, with short blonde hair that kinda pokes out from under his baseball cap in different directions like Dean’s does. When his own green eyes meet blue-grey ones there’s something weird there...but it’s also familiar. Why, though?_

_Still more than a little surprised, Dean forgets to rear back when the man suddenly reaches out a giant hand and thumbs away something on Dean’s cheek. Tears, the guy is brushing away the tears he hadn’t even realized were spilling out onto his cheeks._

_He’s in middle school, dammit, and here he is crying like a baby over spilt spaghetti sauce. The tips of his ears flaming, Dean shoves his sleeve across his face in a pathetic attempt to try to save some cool points—this dude certainly doesn’t seem like he’d cry over stupid stuff like this. He can feel his face burning up, too, and not just because he’s getting too hot in his thick jacket._

_“I, uh…”_

_Dad always said that your money was your business, but there’s no way to answer the man’s question if he doesn’t talk about money. So, Dean just closes his mouth. Like a good kid._

_A new wave of panic rushes through him and he scrambles to fish the singles out of his pocket—good, still there. At least, he’s still got some chance of paying for at least one of the jars. Maybe that’ll mean he won’t have to spend as much in prison._

_“Ah, money troubles,” The man says with a wink and twitch of his lips—a smirk?—before wishing out his own wallet from his back pocket, “Say no more.”_

_Dean’s already shaking his head, taking a step back on instinct. Winchester men don’t cry, and they aren’t a ‘charity case.’_

_“I-I can’t...I can’t take that…”_

_The man quirks an eyebrow. And that’s when the couple of puzzle pieces finally click in Dean’s head, “You. I do know you. You work at the place my dad buys beer.”_

_The man’s face breaks out into a face-splitting grin...but somehow it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes._

_“Bingo. Glad to see I made an impression on such a handsome little dude,” the man chuckles, glancing around the rest of the empty aisle. Even though he’s still really, really nervous the compliment feels almost as good as the hugs his mom gives him, “Exactly, Dean. I’m a friend of your dad’s, so it’s alright if I pay for this giant mess you made. Better me just paying for it now than your daddy finding out, right?”_

_Dean hadn’t even thought of that! Dad..._

_He won’t be happy._

_Besides, his dad does always says ‘hi’ and smile at the guy when he buys his ‘grown-up juice.’ They probably are friends like the man says. And if this man pays for the broken jars, then maybe he won’t get in trouble and can forget any of this ever happened. But still…_

_“I—” Dean gulps, eyes flitting between the sauce splatter, his fisted bills, and the January-colored eyes staring at him, “I don’t think Dad would want me to just_ take _your money, sir…”_

_There’s a flash of...something, in the man’s eyes, then another smile is pulling his features wide._

_“How about I make you a deal,” he stands to his full height, and (weirdly) reaches out a hand to Dean. After a second, Dean takes it. It’s kinda nice and warm even though it’s chilly in the grocery store. His dad never holds his hand like this. It feels good, “How about you come out to my car and scrape the little bit of frost off my windshields, then we’ll come back in here and pay for your groceries? That way you’re not taking my money—you’re earning it. Plus, if you do a really good job, I’ll kick in a couple extra bucks so you can get whatever you and your brother want.”_

_Dean squints but doesn’t let go of the man’s hand. If he lets go, the man might not, “How do you know about Sammy?”_

_“Told ya, I’m a friend of your dad’s,” The few bills between Dean’s fingertips burn, and the knot in his stomach is already unwinding. This is perfect! A friend of his dad’s swoops in right when he needs help and is willing to let Dean earn money enough to buy him and Sammy a real dinner—maybe angels really are watching over him, “I’ve seen how mean your dad can get...this way he’ll never have to know. Right? Sound like a deal, kiddo?”_

_Smiling for the first time since he woke up that morning, Dean beams up at the man, “Deal! Thank you, sir.”_

_They take three steps toward the back of the store (the man said the parking lot out front didn’t have any good spots), before Dean stops in his tracks._

_“What’s wrong, slugger?” The man’s hand tightens a little, but it’s nothing compared to how tight his dad’s hands can squeeze, so Dean ignores it._

_“I should tell Sammy where I’m going.”_

_The hand around his relaxes slightly, and the man smiles again, “Why bother him? Won’t take very long and then we can come get him when it’s time to check out.”_

_Dean hesitates only a moment more, then falls back in stride. The man is right._

_Sammy won’t even notice he’s gone._

  
  


**||||||||||||||||||||**

  
  
  


Dean collapses like a house of cards when Sammy wraps him up in warm arms. It kinda feels like the day they met in the hospital. He hadn’t even realized how needle thin the line between holding-it-together and absolute-goddamn-mess that he’d been riding was until he plants face first into his brother's chest and, well...he _sobs_.

“He—the-the-the liquor store. L-Luc said he’d p-pay for—” Dean’s breath punches out of him again, his lungs on fire as his fingers scramble and scrunch in his little brother’s shirt, “Was so-so scared Dad would…”

“I know,” Sammy is so close, the words can’t be more that a murmur, but they’re loud even over the blood rushing in his ears, “Dad was a bastard, okay? A drunk, mean son of a bitch—but that was never on you. I know you’ve been blaming yourself for a long time—for a _lot_ of shit—Dean. But it’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault.”

Dean wouldn’t be able to make his body leave his Sammy’s hold even if he wanted to. And he very much wants to stay right where he is, because Sammy can’t see his face like this and that’s probably for the best right now.

“So, Dad…?”

His brother’s chest spasms against his, but the kid’s voice is surprisingly steady, “Used to hit us? Yeah. Beat the shit out of you more than me, though. You made sure of that.”

_He probably knew what I was deep down. Saw me for it and knew to be harder on me._

“But I...Sammy you don’t know—” Dean gulps and shakes his head. Maybe he hadn’t deserved that stuff back then but now... “The things I’ve done...to Cas and Jack…”

“I know, Dean. I read it. Remember?” Sammy says, and this time his brother is forcing the space between them. Far and close enough away that Dean has no choice but to meet his not-so-little brother’s eyes, “But I also read what Luc did to you…And I’ve seen how you are with Jack who loves you almost more than you love him.”

_But I…it has to be my fault or…_

“Sammy, I…”

_Or else I didn’t deserve any of it and it_ still _happened._

A tear slips down Sammy’s cheek, but he doesn’t even blink. Dean’s only ever seen that much love in one other person’s eyes before, and it shuts up any protests he might’ve scraped together.

The hands on his shoulders squeeze, sure and gentle just like the man Sammy grew up to be, “People have been telling you it’s your fault for a _very_ long time—Dad, Lucien, now you’re just picking up where they left off. But they were wrong Dean. They have _always_ been wrong about you, and I’m gonna keep telling you that until you believe me.”

Dean’s still crying his eyes out and that doesn’t seem like it’s gonna stop anytime soon but...something feels different about it. His chest is tight—but it’s also lighter, too. His mind is full of smoke and static, but it’s also as clear as the baby blue skies over Lake Chitaqua.

“I c-can’t keep doing this anymore, man...I can’t…”

Sammy’s cheek kicks up in a wobbly, dimpled smile as he shakes his head, “You don’t have to Dean. We’re gonna get you some help, and things don’t have to stay the same, alright?”

“C-Cas…”

“Will be an adult in two years, Dean. _Two years_. I know it seems like forever now, but I will drive you and Jack to California myself if I have to. Do you understand me? You’ll have decades together—just, please...trust me. Please?”

A cool feeling washes through Dean’s veins, and he finds that even his sticky, sweaty hands un-ball a little from Sammy’s shirt.

Two years.

Those hazel eyes mean everything they say. Sammy will make sure he’s okay, his mom will make sure he’s okay. Dean can let them help. That’s allowed.

_I’ll call him, I’ll write him, whatever I gotta do. Then I’ll see him again._

Dean licks his lips, takes a deep breath. In...out. In...out. Just like Cas would tell him to do.

“Just...I need you to tell me I’m okay,” Sammy’s eyes are bright even in the dark room, the sun now fully set and only the streetlights casting beams across his face, “Tell me it’s okay.”

Solid arms wrap around Dean once again, and he buries his face in Sammy’s shoulder, “Dean...nothing’s okay. But it’s gonna be. We’re gonna _make it_ be. Together. Alright?”

Dean doesn’t have the words, probably never will. He nods, inadvertently wiping his grimy face all over his brother’s t-shirt. Sammy doesn’t even glance down, doesn’t even notice, when they finally draw back. 

Dean’s thankful for the dark, it feels cool and soothing. Sammy claps his shoulder because, well, this is the most emotional he’s ever been with the kid and—

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

Dean blinks twice before the meaning of that sound even registers in his mushy brain. But when it does—he damn near gets whiplash from how fast his head snaps toward the door.

In a manner of seconds, him and Sammy have shoved the bed out of the doorway, and Dean sprints past his wide-eyed mother. 

The second he sees the empty cradle in his mom’s room from earlier...events, he turns on his heel so fast he would’ve gotten a rug burn if he hadn’t been wearing socks. Taking the stairs two at a time, Dean’s at the living room phone in no time.

Snatching up the blinking cordless, he grunts out a (breathy), “Hello? Cas?”

There’s a pause—not a silence. Silence is static and electronic humming; this is a shaky breath from a deep voice. Dean’s own air supply catches in his throat.

“Is this Dean?”

There’s noise somewhere in the background. Beeps, and talking, definitely a lot of people. And wait...he knows that voice. It’s—

“Gabe?”

A choked sound, that has Dean’s whole body going cold, crackles in his ear.

“We’re at St. Luke’s South Hospital. How soon can you be here?”

“You’re—Wait, _what_?”

“Cassie tr—" Gabe swallows, “Cassie...he tried to kill himself. How soon can you be here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3 See you next week!!


	20. "Eclipse"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Eclipse" by Pink Floyd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. Thank you all so much for months of your time and energy! It's meant so much to me to hear from you guys as I tried this little experiment :' ) I hope you enjoyed reading this whole thing as much as I enjoyed writing it!!  
> Take Care,  
> Blue

_ “Nngh. Cas?” _

_ “Mhm?” _

_ “Dude, it’s...fuck it’s early, why are you awake?” _

_ “You’re not even looking at the clock, Dean, how do you know it’s that early?” _

_ “I just know, okay? Whole internal clock and whatever. Seriously? You good?” _

_ “I…” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “Do you have dreams, Dean?” _

_ “Oh...You mean like nightmares and shit? Yeah, I mean, you know I do—” _

_ “No, I mean...good dreams? Not just nightmares but nice dreams, too?” _

_ “Well, uh, sometimes. I guess. I mean, sometimes I have this dream that’s kinda stupid.” _

_ “I’m sure it’s not stupid.” _

_ “Wait ‘til you hear it.” _

_ “Okay, tell me.” _

_ “Well, in it...you’ve got wings.” _

_ “Like bird wings or airplane wings?” _

_ “Which do you think?” _

_ “How am I supposed to know? It’s your dream.” _

_ “Yeah, yeah, yeah. They’re bird wings. I guess after the whole Castiel story I just…” _

_ “What color are they?” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “I’m trying to imagine them.” _

_ “They’re, uh, they’re like dark black. You ever seen a black scoter? Like that, but even darker. I’m talkin’ pitch black. Kinda like they’re their own shadow.” _

_ “Oh, so kind of like raven wings?” _

_ “Yeah! But they’re also—shimmery? I dunno. They’re really dark, but if you look at them the right way, they got a green shine to ‘em.” _

_ “They sound very pretty. And you’ve dreamed of me having wings more than once?” _

_ “I mean, yeah. I guess.” _

_ “I like that dream.” _

_ “Heh. I also have one where I’m drinking a cherry pie milkshake. Love that one.” _

_ “Do cherry pie milkshakes really exist?” _

_ “They do in my dream, man—but I, uh…” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “I dunno...I seem to really only remember the bad dreams the best. Why you askin’ anyway?” _

_ “I just...I had a nice dream. That’s what woke me up, but I didn’t wake up startled or anything. It was just nice.” _

_ “Yeah? Like—like what kinda ‘nice?’ We talking cuddly-Care-Bears-nice or...the  _ other _ kind of nice?” _

_ “‘Other’ kind of nice? What are you talking about?” _

_ “Nothing. What are  _ you _ talkin’ about?” _

_ “You were there with me.” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “Mhm. We were on a beach somewhere; I don’t remember where. I don’t think I’d ever been there before.” _

_ “Yeah? Were we, uh, wearing swimsuits...just towels...or…?” _

_ “You were wearing a tuxedo and kind’ve looked like a penguin, and I was wearing one of those shirts that old men in Florida wear.” _

_ “Oh.” _

_ “The ones with the big colorful flowers?” _

_ “Wait, you’ve been to Florida?” _

_ “Yeah, when I was pretty little. I don’t remember it that well. It was really hot, and all my t-shirts stuck to my back. That’s about all I remember.” _

_ “Heh.” _

_ “Anyway, we were on the beach and the sun was coming up—the sunrise was purple, but that’s beside the point.” _

_ “‘Beside the point.’” _

_ “Yes, and we were sitting on a towel and watching it rise together. You were smiling a lot. You held my hand, too.” _

_ “Like this?” _

_ “Yes, Dean.” _

_ “What else?” _

_ “That was it. Well—actually you pulled a peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of your pocket at some point, and we shared it. But then that was it.” _

_ “Huh? That was it? What made it such a nice dream then?” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “Didn’t you, like, play with a puppy or, uh, get to see your family or something?” _

_ “There was no puppy, Dean. You and I were just sitting on a beach, watching the sunrise, and eating a sandwich. That was all.” _

_ “I don’t get it.” _

_ “What do you not understand?” _

“ _That’s just—but that’s just you and me hanging out? I don’t—Was it nice ‘cause we were, y’know,_ _not_ here?”

_ “Well, yes but...I think main reason I liked it was specifically because it was just you and me ‘hanging out.’” _

_ “Dude, even in the dark I know you’re doing the air quotes.” _

_ “They make you laugh.” _

_ “I, uh, y-yeah they do. And, um, and so it was just that?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “And that’s why your dream was nice? Because we were, uh...hanging out? And I was smiling?” _

_ “Yes, of course. It was very nice to think of the two of us sitting on the beach being happy. Plus, I enjoy seeing you smile immensely.” _

_ “Really?” _

_ “Of course, Dean.” _

_ “Heh. I think I like that kinda nice even better.” _

_ “Better than what?” _

_ “Never mind.” _

_ “Oh. Okay.” _

_ “Cas?” _

_ “Yes?” _

_ “Would you like to...maybe if I scoot over—uh, I mean if you…” _

_ “Are you asking me to cuddle you?” _

_ “Uh, I mean, you don’t gotta say it like—” _

_ “Dean?” _

_ “...yes, please.” _

_ “Would you like to be the ‘little spoon’ or the ‘big spoon?’” _

_ “...little.” _

_ “Alright...how’s that? Comfortable now?” _

_ “Yeah, you’re so squishy, man—I love it. You?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “Always so freakin’ warm…” _

_ “Are you going to go back to sleep now?” _

_ “I dunno. Yeah, probably. You?” _

_ “Probably not, no. I think I’m awake for good now.” _

_ “You just gonna lay there and watch me sleep or do you want the Walkman or something?” _

_ “Hmm, sure. That sounds good.” _

_ “Walkman it is. There. I can’t see—you got it?” _

_ “Yes. Do you remember which tape you were listening to last?” _

_ “Uh...oh, I think it’s Zepp. Want a different one?” _

_ “No, this is perfect.” _

_ “Okey doke.” _

_ “ _ This is the wonder of devotion...I see the torch...We all must hold… _ ” _

_ “Weirdo.” _

_ “Huh? Did you say something?” _

_ “Nothing. You can put the headphones back on. I’m gonna get some shut-eye now.” _

_ “ _ Upon us all, upon us all a little rain must fall… _ ” _

_ “I love ya, buddy.” _

_ “ _ Just a little rain, ohhh-oh… _ ” _

**||||||||||||||||||||**

The bleach-y smell and unnatural cold of the hospital has a shiver running down Dean’s spine; even the thickness of his sweatshirt can’t do shit to make the hairs standing up on the back of his neck go down. He squeezes Jack, who’s perched on his hip, a little closer. It’s like fucking Deja vu. Dean hates Deja vu.

Jack hadn’t fallen asleep in the car like Dean had thought he might—just the opposite. Like Dean, the kid seemed to get more and more amped up as the mile markers flew past. He’s damn near as twitchy as Dean is.

Him, his mom, Sammy, and Jack look all manner of burnt out as they purposefully—but aimlessly—march through the emergency room’s automatic doors. On the bright side, by 12:43 in the morning standards (Dean noted the time as they’d pulled into the parking garage), they look pretty put together. Certainly better than Gabe, who they’d called as soon as they’d park. Even from a distance, the short dude looks like shit warmed over. Light brown hair messy and sweaty around the edges, fingers rubbing at yesterday’s five o’clock shadow. When Gabe glances up from his phone, and lands on the jumble of Winchesters, Dean blinks twice because—yeah, he ain’t imagining things. That’s a look of  _ relief _ .

Gabe, even for his shorter-than-average legs, is standing in front of them in about three steps.

There’s urgency in his eyes, but it doesn’t seem directed at anything. Maybe just runoff from the beyond shitty night he must be having. Well, that at least, Dean can sympathize with.

“Uh, hey,” Gabe shuffles a little, then takes a sip from a to-go cup with the hospital’s logo on the side, “He’s back here.”

The older Shurley turns his back to lead them down a hallway that’s walls are a deathly pale green under the fluorescent lighting, though he keeps glancing back like he’s afraid they’ll decide to just up and leave. Fat chance—Dean would have to be trampled to death by a herd of buffalo to stop him from seeing Cas now. Especially when they’re so close. Close enough that he can almost picture the pools of his friend’s eyes, like a man stranded in the desert mistakes sand for an oasis.

He licks his lips and hitches Jack up higher on his hip as they round another corner. Jesus Christ, how many hallways are in this place?

“H-How long ago?”

Gabe’s shoulders slump almost imperceptibly, the same way Cas’s do when he feels defeated.

“Ma...she found him about three hours ago. He only woke up sometime in the last two.”

“Was he in a bathtub?”

Dean nearly slams into the man’s back from how quickly he halts. The to-go coffee sloshes just a little out of the plastic lid’s drinking cut-out when Gabe sharply pivots to face them. Gabe’s brow is arched and the tightness in his jaw has Dean’s hackles rising in a second.

“Excuse me?”

While Dean’s anger had fizzled down to not much more than an undercurrent beneath the blinding panic over the course of the car ride, it lurches back to life in the pit of his belly. Without really meaning to, Dean finds himself widening his stance and squaring his shoulders to match, though he’s a good half foot taller, “He was, wasn’t he? Cas...Cas did it in the bathtub again, didn’t he?”

“ _ Again? _ ”

“Yeah, asshole,” Dean spits out, “ _ Again _ .”

Gabe’s unoccupied fist is balling at his side, and his nostrils flared. And _ fuck _ , Dean wants this fury to rise up, wants the bastard’s anger to point his direction, wants with all his shaking body to have someone—anyone to fight.

“When did he—”

“When do you think he did it?” Jack tucks in closer, and Dean becomes aware of his slowly rising volume. He steps closer to the shorter man, hissing, “This wasn’t the first time, man. But you wouldn’t know that would you? Nobody fucking bothered to ask Cas, did they?”

“You mean you knew, and you didn’t try—”

“What the fuck are you trying to say—” Mary starts, and Dean can feel through some weird, Spidey Sense that she’s edging in closer at the sign of an impending argument. But Dean barrels past because  _ Oh, hellllll no. _

“Hey, fuck you! ‘Didn’t try’? Are you  _ kidding me _ ? Why don’t you ask Mama Shurley if I tried to fucking warn her, huh?” Jack’s hands grip Dean’s sweatshirt a little tighter, and he huffs out a breath, “Fuck this. Either show us where Cas is or I’ll find him myself. I’m not going to deal with your bullshit right now—I just wanna see ‘im.”

Gabe’s face is verging on scarlet now, but his jaw stays unyieldingly tight. He stares a half beat longer, eyes somehow softer than the mess of emotions tugging at the rest of his features, before turning on his heel and continuing down the hall. His steps are stomps now but he can go on feeling however he feels. Dean doesn’t give a flying fuck, as long as Cas is somewhere at the end of this maze.

The final two turns take forever and the blink of an eye all at once. This door is the same honey color as the ones back in Missouri, and Dean stares at its grain with a numb face. How can he be numb and feel everything at the same time? Fucking bodies, man. Insane.

Gabe enters first, Dean right on his heels.

Cas’s hospital room is laid out just like all the other ones, a shoebox full of life-saving medical junk with white-ish walls and a painting of generic trees hung on one side. Nothing special. Except everything is special. Even the stupid painted trees are special because Cas is special and they’re finally  _ here _ . Together. 

There’s a woman with dark brown, shoulder-length hair sitting in one of the chairs. It’s just over her shoulder that he gets his first glimpse of Cas’s sleeping form. She’s facing away from the door but her attention snaps backward to them at the  _ snick! _ of the opening door. There’s a shyness that seems inherent, but a quietly concealed strength that Dean can see in an instant just below the surface. She’s so  _ Cas _ that this has to be the other sister.

But—

“Where’s uh…?” Dean glances, stupidly, around the small room but there’s no imposing woman in a power suit to be found.

“Michael took Mother and Father down to the cafeteria,” Hannah—Dean’s pretty sure it’s the ‘Hannah’ Cas sometimes talked about—whispers, a gentle sweeping voice that also reminds Dean way too much of his best friend.

“So, she doesn’t know we’re here?”

Gabe scoffs a laugh at the ground, “No, I told her.”

“Oh.”

“We, uh—” Gabe’s throat clicks and he crosses his arms over his chest, “After a... _ long _ discussion over my baby brother’s  _ unconscious _ body, ‘the family’ decided that it would be best if Cassie stayed in Kansas City and lived with me for a while.”

Dean blinks and tries to reign in the butterflies, he’s gotten his hopes far too many times in the past to trust the pleasant flip of his stomach.

“So he’s... _ not _ going to California?”

Jack squirms against him but doesn’t say a word.

Gabe’s brown eyes are rimmed in red and he shakes his head determinedly at the carpet, “I think Ma finally got that prayers alone weren’t gonna solve this. And I—” Gabe draws in a hard exhale, running his hand through his hair with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, “We can’t lose him. Not again. Not if there’s something we can do this time.”

Dean doesn’t quite know what to say to that. What is there to say? Instead, he nods at Gabe, hoping that somehow the man understands. Gabe nods back, eyes flitting over to the hospital bed where Cas is snuffling softly, waiting.

Hannah stands from her chair as her eyes fall on Dean and Jack, mouth opening twice without any words coming out. Dean’s already keying up for another fight—but she steps to the side with her own small nod, eyes then dropping to the ground. 

Dean sucks in a breath and nearly chokes on it. 

“Cas?”

Cas isn’t nearly as thin as the last time Dean saw him, but fuck he’s so… _ grey _ . The boy’s eyes are closed, caught in a restless sleep that scrunches his brow. Dean ease Jack down at his side, but the kid doesn’t run to Cas’s side like he had last time. If anything, he seems to wiggle himself back behind Dean instead. Dean honestly can’t blame him. They’ve only seen this Cas a handful of times and it never stops being scary as shit.

But it’s still Cas. Dean’s Cas.

“Doc says he’s gonna be sleeping a lot,” Gabe says.

“He lost a lot of blood,” Hannah adds.

Taking another step, Dean finally reaches the bed. His friend’s arms are carefully positioned at his sides, thoroughly wrapped in clean, white gauze almost up to the elbow on both sides. A helluva a lot nicer wrapping job than Dean ever did. His fingertips reach out though all he wants to do is wrap his whole body around the other boy—but they gotta start somewhere and...he’s almost afraid Cas’ll  _ break _ if he’s too rough. Warmth rises up from Cas’s arm through the gauze.

_ My little space heater. Not enough heat for himself, still he gives all he’s got away. _

Dean’s touch skims lower until reaching the soft, somewhat chapped uncovered backs of Cas’s hands. He slips their fingers together, careful not to jostle the little monitor thing clamped down on the boy’s pointer.

Eyes finally drift up Cas’s prone body, over the pattern of the thin gown, the green-blue of the hospital blankets stacked on top of him. For warmth, Dean realizes. Just the way Dean had used his own body heat to get his friend’s waxy skin to back human temperatures last time this happened. His hand squeezes at the memory.

The greyness extends to Cas’s face as well. Dean tries not to notice, though. Instead forcing himself to focus on all the  _ new  _ carving out his friend’s face. If they had never known one another and Dean just happened to see Cas as some stranger on the sidewalk—he’d have taken him for a grown man. There’s a little more squish to Cas’s face, the same healthful softness he and Jack also have in their cheeks now and it’s still a relief to see no matter the million and one other things that are horribly wrong with this picture. But, as Dean’s known for years, if he can’t find some good, he’ll only see the bad—and that’s not what Cas needs right now. Hell, that’s not what Dean needs right now.

There is good to be found here, even if it takes some effort to bring into focus.

For one, despite the sickly grey that hangs over Cas like a storm cloud, there’s more color in Cas’s upper arms and the angles of his face. Was Cas this tan when they first met? He sure can’t remember anymore, but at least it looks that way now. Gabe isn’t all that pale, so it wouldn’t be surprising. 

_ My sunshine is finally getting a little sunshine. _

Dean has a flash of a daydream, Cas in swim trunks splashing along in Lake Chitaqua with golden skin and sunglasses that shift upwards when his nose crinkles on a smile.

The little bit of scruff framing Cas’s jaw and squared lips is sure new, too. And just— _ damn _ . 

To his deathbed, Dean will believe that their cosmic mind-reading thing is what wakes Cas up, because suddenly, his friend is shifting. Face scrunching in that cute way Dean realizes he’d started to forget about; it then smooths out as his head rolls to the side. Dark lashes flutter open and squinch, looking somewhere off in the distance behind Hannah.

At the first flash of ocean blue, the stone in Dean’s throat starts to form. Even with the laser beams of all the eyes in the room on him, Dean knows the buzz under his skin is 100% the fault of one Mr. Castiel Shurley.

“Cas?”

Cas blinks again at the wall beyond his sister, then his gaze slides warily upward like he thinks he’s imagining things—maybe he’s thinking he’s finally lost any marbles he had left. 

_ I know the feeling. _

Dean recognizes the instant Cas sees him—or, at least, the moment he lets himself believe it’s really Dean hovering over him. Those dull baby blues go wide and insanely round, and Dean might laugh if he didn’t think it’d quickly derail into sobbing. The dullness fades in an instant, that gone-ness that used to cloud Cas’s gaze for days on end at Luc’s suddenly bursts into a brightness that has Dean’s lip wobbling.

“D-Dean?”

Lifting his fingertips to nudge Cas’s jaw, Dean chuckles, “Nice peach fuzz.”  _ I love you, too, you idiot. _

The shock doesn’t fade for a long moment in which Cas just stares. Then he blinks, and his whole body seems to sag back into the sheets that smell a little like rubbing alcohol. A whole roller coaster of expressions cross Cas’s face, finally settling on Dean’s least favorite of all his friend’s expressions: aching guilt.

“I-I—” the words choke in Cas’s throat and everything in the boy suddenly caves inward, eyes squeezing shut and a rattle of sobs twisting him into a ball. He clutches the blankets with trembling fists and tries to draw them up far enough to cover his face but there’s no way in hell Dean will let this go on another second—not now when they aren’t just attached by miles of telephone lines, “I-I’m  _ so _ sorry, Dean. I—”

He doesn’t wait for Cas to finish, doesn’t want to wait for anything anymore. Cas’s grip is loose at best on the covers, and Dean easily redirects the movement. Careful of the few cords snaking along Cas’s other side, Dean hauls himself right into the bed beside his friend. Through a mumbling stream of apologies and shaky crying, Cas again tries to turn away, curl in on his side and hide. Dean’s not going anywhere. Cas may have been able to say scary shit and hang up on him before, but Dean’s not moving a muscle unless Cas actually looks him in the eyes and tells him to get lost. But that’s not what this is. 

Dean has a flash of lying on the basement’s cold, concrete floor, holding Cas’s hand as it hangs over the edge of their bed. Dean gets it now. Cas was in just as much pain watching Dean hurt himself—even if it was only on the inside—as Dean feels now. And just like Cas had, Dean’s not gonna let go. He’s not gonna let Cas drown in it all just like Cas would never let him do the same. They can do this for each other.

“C’mere,” Maybe it’s just from the blood loss, or maybe it’s the age difference, but Dean effortlessly draws the boy’s equally big body up against him. Cas’s crumpled form is trembling and warm and fits perfectly against Dean’s chest, his chin tucking over the crown of ruffled, dark hair, “There we go. I gotcha. I gotcha.”

Cas shifts and squirming away, tears soaking into Dean’s sweatshirt—then he’s suddenly hugging Dean harder than even Sammy can. Burying himself in Dean, arms and hands spasming and clawing and trying to get impossibly closer.

“De—” Cas hiccups but another low whimper scatters his words in all directions as he shoves his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean presses a kiss on the first place he can reach, squeezing the best thing that ever happened to him a little tighter.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean whispers, the words just for him and Cas no matter if anyone else can hear ‘em, “You’re right where you belong. Okay? I gotcha.”

The shaking dies down into tremors, but Cas doesn’t loosen his grip even a little.

“Hey, uh…” Mary’s voice breaks through the moment and when Dean’s eyes open—when had he shut them?—her own gaze is as red-rimmed as Gabe’s. She sniffles but flashes Dean a genuine smile, “I could use some coffee. Gabe? Where did you get yours?”

Gabe pushes away from the wall with only a second’s hesitation, slinging a jacket over his arm that Dean hadn’t noticed sprawled over the other chair.

“Near the lobby, come on I’ll show ya. How ‘bout you, big guy?” Gabe pats Sam’s shoulder as he passes out the door, “I’m sure they’ve got hot cocoa or something like that. Hannah Banana, you comin’?”

“Hey—I drink coffee,” Sammy rolls his eyes, following Gabe and his mom to the doorway, but hangs onto the threshold and swings back to look at Jack, “Do you wanna hang out here, buddy? Or do you wanna grab some hot cocoa downstairs?”

Jack takes a step to the door and halts, turning puppy eyes and a bitten lip back to him and Cas.

Dean huffs a genuine laugh and ruffles the kid’s hair, “Go ahead, man. Maybe you’ll actually sleep if you have a sugar crash.”

Cas twists in his grasp until he’s facing out, he must manage some kind of small smile since the kid’s shoulders relax and his grin turns beaming bright at Cas, “I’ll be right back, Cas! I brought pictures of the beach I want to show you!”

“We’ll be right here, Jack,” Cas’s voice is gritty, rough but it washes through Dean like cool water on a sandy beach.

Jack spins on his heel, dashing to take Sammy’s outstretched hand with way more energy than Dean can comprehend at this time of night. Sugar’s one hell of a motivator.

Hannah is the last to leave, giving the two of them one last lingering look before disappearing around the corner as well.

The sudden void of sound is strange but not unpleasant as all but the electronic rhythms of the surrounding machines are left to fill the air. 

Cas isn’t shaking so much anymore, and Dean takes that for the good sign that is. Carding a hand through the boy’s hair, he tries to pull the words out of the popcorn ceiling—but he’s going nowhere fast. It’s Cas that ends up breaking the silence.

“I can’t do it anymore, Dean.”

Slipping his fingertips just under the collar of the hospital gown, Dean starts rubbing slow circles over a freckle he knows is there somewhere, “What can’t you do anymore?”

“ _ This _ ,” Cas huffs, “I’m so...tired. Exhausted—all the time. I see his face every time I close my eyes. I can’t sleep. A-And you’re not there when I can’t sleep anymore. Then I wake up crying and helpless and-and it doesn’t  _ end _ , Dean. It  _ never _ ends.” 

The words settle between them, their whole life with Luc sitting on the bed there beside them.

“How long have you been wantin’ to get that off your chest?”

Cas thumbs over the collar of Dean’s sweatshirt and lets out a sigh like he’s breathing out all the bad that’s been choking him, “Long time.”

“Yeah?”

He nods against Dean’s shoulder.

“I-I tried, Dean. I tried to wait, like you said—so we could all be together again when I’m a grown-up, I promise I did, I swear—”

“Shh,” he hushes into the boy’s hair, “I believe you.”

“But when they told me that we’re moving, I just…” Cas hiccups and burrows in closer.

Like a flipping switch, Dean's face breaks into a smile he knows Cas can’t see.

“Well, have I got news for  _ you _ ,” Cas draws back a little, meeting Dean’s gaze for the first time since they’ve been this close. He squints that little curious look and  _ God _ , Dean wants to kiss every inch of that face—but not before he tells him...“You’re not going to California.”

Cas’s squint narrows even further and he cocks his head to the side, “What are you talking about?”

_ I’m gonna marry him. _

Yup. It’s decided. No girl’s gonna stand next to Cas in his tuxedo get-up—nope. That’s gonna be him and Dean up there with the flowers and kissing and everything.

“I don’t know about the rest of your family, but Gabe said you’re gonna stay with him now for a little while.”

Cas’s eyes widen incredulously, “And Mother  _ agreed _ to that?”

Gaze dropping to the pristine gauze holding Cas together, Dean thumbs over one of the pieces of surgical tape. His smile fades a little—but only a little.

“Sounds like she had a change of heart, yeah.”

Cas slumps back against Dean, and he gives the boy space to let that all sink in. Saying the poor dude’s had a long night is an understatement of epic proportions.

“Will I get to see you and Jack now?”

_ I hope so. _

Not that he’s had long to think about it, but yeah, it’s something Dean’s definitely gonna lose sleep over for a long-ass time, he thinks—at least until Gabe makes up his mind about it.

“Well, Gabe  _ is _ the one that called us. Plus, you did say I made quite an impression on him. The odds are looking pretty good for us, I’d say.”

_ I hope I’m not lying to you. _

“I hope so because...if I can’t…” Cas’s voice catches, but he doesn’t start to lose his breath again. At least he’s coming back down to Earth—small graces, “I don’t think I could do this without you, Dean.”

Dean’s ribs give the same violent squeeze that he’s so used to at this point but still hurts every time. He wishes he had more than words to give his friend—to show him how goddamn incredible Cas is in his eyes. But all he’s got is words, so he’ll make do.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, dude. Even if I dropped off the face of the planet tomorrow—which I’m not,” he adds when he feels Cas’s whole body tenses against him. He presses another kiss to his friend’s temple and chuckles, “I promise I’m gonna be around so long you get tired of me.  _ But _ if I did...you’d be alright, Cas. You’d be more than alright. You’re strong and brave and I wish you didn’t  _ have _ to be either—but I know you can do this, buddy. With or without me.”

Cas is already shaking his head and Dean almost rolls his eyes at dealing with someone almost as stubborn as himself.

“No, I—I don’t think I’m—"

“You fucking  _ saved us _ , Cas,” Dean says, “Dude, you totally lived up to the story—c’mon, Castiel would’ve been proud! I mean, what other crazy-smart son of a bitch would’ve figured out how to escape and then jump Luc like you did while in a  _ moving vehicle _ ? Huh? Riddle me that.”

Cas huffs a sound that Dean chooses to interpret as bashful and not any real annoyance. Not when Cas only hugs him tighter, “You would’ve.”

“Heh,” Maybe Dean’s not as much of a dumbass as he thought, but their whole escape was all Cas’s doing. He honestly has no clue if he would’ve figured another way out of that van—but that ain’t the point, “Will you at least meet me halfway and say we’re both pretty awesome?”

Cas smiles. Dean can  _ feel _ it against his shoulder and it’s better than any peach cobbler on the planet, “I can agree to that compromise.” 

“You better. Stubborn asshole…”

Cas chuckles and it’s more than glorious, “You know, I actually looked up how the Castiel story ends.”

“Yeah? How’d it end?”

His friend huffs—but it’s definitely annoyance ringing loud and clear this time, “They both die at the end.”

“Are you  _ joking _ ?”

“No,” the other boy sighs, “Castiel is cast down to a special hell for angels because of he was overly devoted to the Righteous Man. And the Righteous Man died in a random battle sometime after he was rescued. It was... _ disappointing _ to say the least.”

“Jesus, that—no wonder you didn’t want to remember that ending,” Dean scratches the short hairs at the nape of Cas’s neck as warm breaths puff out against his clothed collarbone, “That ending sucks, man.”

“I know.”

“But, uh,” Dean licks his lips and cranes his neck back until Cas meets his eye, “that doesn’t mean we’ve got a bad ending coming. You know that right? We can do _ so _ much better than that.”

When a hand, IV taped snuggly in and against it, comes to rest on Dean’s cheek he can’t do anything more than lean into the touch. Cas takes the tired weight of his head and it feels like balance, a perfect circle. Together, just like he’d promised. They’d do this together.

“Yes,” he murmurs, the words brushing against Dean’s cheek better than any imaginary Cas his mind could ever make up, “I know Dean.”

Dean only realizes he’s closed his eyes when he’s suddenly surprised by the brush of lips against his own. Cas is kissing him, for the first time in almost two months, and it’s more home than anything Dean’s ever had. The feeling is warm, a little squishy, and just how he’d remembered.

When they break apart with a click, Dean’s lids slip open to find Cas’s eyes still lightly closed.

“You know I love you...right? 

A light grin playing at the other boy’s lips before his eyes finally open as well.

“Yes, I—” Suddenly Cas jerks, pulling back and squints at Dean, that hint of a smile tugging even more at chapped lips, “You have glasses now.”

“Heh,” Dean mumbles, fidgeting where the plastic hooks over his burning ears, “Yeah, fixed my fucked-up eye.”

“You look very handsome.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, gaze falling to the blankets scrunched up on their laps.

“Shuddup.”

Castiel’s sudden and bubbling laugh nearly scares the shit out of Dean. But, for maybe the first time in his life, it feels like the good kind of scared. The kinda scared that means something new is about to start and nothing will ever be the same. It’s the kinda scared that isn’t all that scary.

“I don’t think I will. You’ll just have to get used to my compliments, Dean.”

Hiding his smile in that fluffy, midnight hair he missed so fucking much, Dean pulls Cas back into his chest. The press of lips against his neck tickles and he hums a laugh that rumbles all the way to his soul.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, “I think I can agree to that compromise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And all that is now  
> And all that is gone  
> And all that's to come  
> And everything under the sun is in tune
> 
> \- “Eclipse”


	21. "Tangerine" (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Tangerine" by Led Zeppelin

**||||||||||| TWO YEARS LATER ||||||||||**

With the back of his mom’s mini-van, and Gabe’s Jeep all packed to the brim, they head out to make the first trip. It still makes Dean’s stomach uncomfortably floppy to watch Cas drive away in Gabe’s passenger seat, but that’s okay—Mary’s car plus onto the street right behind theirs. The Jeep never leaves their view through the windshield the whole way to the Bunker Drive Apartments complex.

Bunker Drive had been a compromise between both families, setting up Cas, Dean and Jack equidistant from both Mary and Sammy and the Shurleys. It’s a small-ish place that had been built in the 50’s, but Dean had loved it the second they’d stopped through the threshold.

Now, walking in (backwards) with the first piece of furniture ( _their_ furniture), Dean falls in love a little bit more. While Mr. and Mrs. Shurley had been willing to help them into a more ‘modern,’ bigger space none of them wanted that. Considering how much time they’d spent in an eight-by-eight broom closet, ‘bigger’ just isn’t something they’re ready for. Not yet anyway.

Cas follows in behind with two stacked boxes and Dean nearly drops his end of the couch at the sight. Sammy squawks something about paying better attention, and Dean _is_ paying attention...just not to the couch. How the hell is he supposed to focus on anything but the roll of tan, healthy muscles flexing beneath Cas’s t-shirt sleeves? He’s only a human for chrissake. Cas only gives a shadow of a smile at Dean’s stupidly wide eyes as he brushes past much more closely than usual.

Hannah follows, a table lamp curled in one arm and some hanging clothes slung over the other, including Cas’s Gas N’ Sip vest as well as the Singer Auto coveralls proudly displaying a red and white patch that says ‘Dean.’

Another perk of Bunker Drive was that the highway to his apprenticeship that Sheriff Mills had helped him find with her husband, Bobby, went right past Cas’s work.

There’s something breathtakingly _normal_ about the thought of getting up every morning and hopping in Dean’s tiny, shitty, beloved car (that’s right, Dean has a fucking _driver’s license_ now), and dropping Cas off at the Olathe station on his way to work. Work that Dean is loving, by the way. Getting to fix things, work with his hands, it’s just the kind of total-body activity that gets his blood going and pulls him out of his head for a while—in a word, it’s perfect. His favorite thing, though, above all the details is the new independence working their bottom-rung jobs gives them, including the freedom to make rent on their own place.

Sometimes he still gets that heart-squeezing, don’t-touch-me voice in his head screaming that Cas deserves better than some dumbass, greasy mechanic, but these days, just the sound of Cas’s voice has the panic fading as quickly as it had spiked. Since Cas has started online classes to get his GED with hopes of enrolling at the college in Lawrence, his worries that he’s holding the guy back, trapping him or something like that have been easier to tune out. And when Cas pops _Desolation Angels_ into the car’s CD player and lets his hand rest on Dean’s knee while they’re driving—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—that little voice is silent, and Dean’s mind is blissfully quiet.

And, well, his biweekly appointments with Mildred may have a little something to do with that, too.

The last of the, albeit sparse, Goodwill furniture is unloaded not too late into the afternoon. Dean carries in the final box marked ‘D/C Room’—the one with _special_ cargo—to their bedroom before heading back out to the main area. As he wanders out to the kitchen it looks like Cas, Hannah, and Mrs. Shurley have finally got filled and organized, he’s greeted by the wonderfully spicy smell of a crockpot of chili on the counter and two pizzas baking in the stainless-steel oven. Cas is perched on the counter, intense eyes scanning that legal pad he’d been scratching moving notes on for weeks. Dean hops next to where Cas, bumping their shoulders and kissing his cheek simply because that’s just something they can do now. His friend’s focus falters adorably, the little flush staying on his cheeks the entire time they plan out which boxes need to get unpacked first after everyone heads home. Mrs. Shurley comes in to grab a towel, giving them each a smile. Though the smile flashed Dean’s direction is still on the chilly side, she nonetheless hands them each an apple from a paper bag in the fridge on her way out to be sure they ‘get enough antioxidants,’ before making her exit back to the living room. Things are still more than a little frigid between them, and Dean’s not sure he’ll ever forgive that woman for how she made Cas feel...but he’s trying. They all are.

Jack bounds in a second later, pieces of packing tape stuck all over his shirt, asking if the pizza is almost done. Cas’s mouth turns up into a gummy grin and he hops down to the tile floor, admonishing Jack’s impatience and bending down to peel away the clear tape.

_This is home._

**||||||||||||||||||||**

Dean snuffles awake at the sound of thin cardboard flaps sliding across one another and wax paper crinkling. His limbs feel sleep-heavy and—speaking of sleep-heavy, Jack’s face scrunches at Dean’s movement, but his eyes don’t open. The kid's soft cheek is pressed to the sleeve of his t-shirt, a small drool spot trailing up to the corner of Jack’s mouth.

Still a little hazy, the sight is almost tooth-rottingly sweet, but Dean lets it wash over him, lets it all soak into his skin.

On another blink his tired eyes slide up to Cas as his friend re-boxes the takeout containers strewn all over their coffee table. The flannel he’d borrowed is a little looser in the shoulders than it is on Dean, but he looks like a goddamn angel in the soft glow of the TV stuck on the _The Avengers_ menu.

“Hey ‘andsome,” Dean mumbles, rubbing the last dregs of sleep from his sockets and readjusting his glasses.

Cas’s motions pause, turning the full power of his quiet smile and fluffy hair onto Dean, “Hello, Dean.”

Still drowsy enough not to feel too self-conscious about it, Dean reaches out a lazy hand to slowly draw his friend in by the sleeve.

“C’mere. Wanna hug.”

Dean pointedly ignores Cas’s amused huff as the boy who’s not really a boy anymore sets down the smooth boxes in hand. Careful enough not to jostle Jack, Cas lowers down to the couch, pulling Dean’s whole body in until his head is resting on Cas’s shoulder.

“Does this suffice?”

“Shhh. I’m still sleeping.”

“In that case, I guess we can save what we’d talked about until tomorrow.”

Dean’s eyes shoot open because _holy shit_ , his brain hadn’t woken up enough to remember that quite yet. No way in hell was he gonna sleep now even if he’d wanted to.

“I’m awake. I’m awake, I—” Dean shifts back, glancing up to find a very pleased smirk dancing on Cas’s lips, “Haha. Very funny. Come on, gotta get the kid to bed first before...that.”

“Indeed,” Cas presses one last peck to Dean’s temple, causing a shiver to flow down his too-stiff spine, before sliding down to crouch beside the sofa, “Jack?”

Dean pushes a rogue strand off the kid’s forehead and nudges him with the drool-stained shoulder.

“Bedtime, bud.”

This time Jack does rouse, face scrunching up again as he tries to bury it somewhere in the dark space between Dean’s shoulder and the back of the couch.

“Come on, Jack,” Cas chuckles, taking both of the kid’s hands in his as gentle as he always is.

“Nngh.”

“There he is. Come on, dude.”

Jack gives a final grunt but pulls away, eyes fluttering open to a squint. 

“Hey, Cas,” the kid’s scowl turns up into a smile and Dean’s ribs squeeze wonderfully as he lifts off the couch, stretching with a groan. His lower back gives a dull throb and his neck crackles uncomfortably.

“Alright, lesson learned: No more sleeping on the couch.”

Cas takes Jack’s hand, guiding him up and off the couch even though the kid’s eyes are still more or less closed.

Flipping off the TV, Dean falls in line behind them as their little caravan wanders down the hall. The door of the kid’s room is adorned with a Batman mini-poster Cas has bought him for his twelfth birthday in addition to the handmade ‘Jack’s Room’ sign Jack had drawn instead of unpacking the boxes Dean had told him to. Dean will admit, though, the kid’s got knack for art stuff. Maybe he and Cas should pick the kid up a sketchbook from the Dollar Tree one night after work.

Jack turns clumsily on his heel when he reaches the threshold, almost slamming into Cas to hug him.

“L’ve ya, Cassh,” Jack mumbles into the muffling fabric of Cas’s borrowed flannel.

“I love you, too, Jack.”

In an equally sleepy jolt of movement, Jack turns and wraps his arms around Dean’s ribs, squeezing and nuzzling and turning Dean’s insides all warm and fuzzy.

“L’ve ya, D’n.”

Dean’s getting better about holding stuff back all the time, he’s trying to say what he really means more and it’s a work in progress but it’s getting easier day by day along with everything else.

Squeezing his arms around the kid’s shoulders in equal measure, Dean buries his face in Jack’s green apple-scented hair. He kisses on the kid’s part—okay, maybe he plants more than one kiss on ‘im—before drawing back.

“Love ya, too, big guy.”

And he is—Jesus Christ, Jack’s sure shot up a couple of inches.

The door clicks behind the kid, and Cas takes Dean’s hand in his, “He’s up to my _shoulder_ now, Cas. When the fuck did that happen?”

Cas chuckles, squeezing his hand, “He told me today that he wanted to put Marvelous Marvin on the shelf by his books.”

“ _What?_ He’s not gonna sleep with Marv anymore?”

Looks like therapy was doing pretty well by all of them.

Shaking his head, Cas sighs around a smile, “It appears that way. But he did say he wanted Marvin around ‘just in case.’”

“I mean I know he’s almost a teenager...but still. He just seems like a little kid to me still, y’know?”

When they reach Dean and Cas’s open door at the end of the hall Cas turns to face him and the breath slowly leaves Dean’s body. Cas crowds into his space, body solid and all-encompassing against his as they fall into one another’s arms like puzzle pieces.

“I know, love. I know.”

Even in only the glow of streetlights coming through the window Cas looks beautiful, heavenly even.

“Kiss me?”

_God, I love that smile._

Cas presses in even closer as their lips meet, sliding together with warm breath dusting their cheeks. It’s a long moment that Dean gets lost in, any of the day’s tension releasing from his muscles.

When Cas finally draws back, Dean slumps a little, not realizing just how much he’d melted or just how much his friend has started holding him up.

Cas’s back is to the windows but even to the dark shape of him is familiar, one Dean has seen a million times in a million ways. If he were someone else, maybe he’d say how soft the edges of Cas’s silhouette are soft as shadows. Maybe he’d compare the gleaming of light reflecting in his friend’s eye to starlight, mesmerizing and otherworldly. Maybe he’d say how he can’t imagine there’s anything in the universe as pretty as the rough blue he’ll never really be able to put a name to—but God knows he’ll keep on trying.

But Dean’s just himself, and no one else, so he stands there breathless instead.

“Dean?”

His hands twitch where they’ve fallen on Cas’s warm hips, “Huh?”

“Would you like to stare at me longer or can we actually go into the bedroom?”

“Oh...heh…”

“Bedroom?”

“Yeah. G-Good idea.”

_We’re gonna share a bed...again. Like before, but not._

Dean’s not an idiot and he’s not naive, but he’s not sure anything could prepare him for the sight and feel of Cas holding his hand and guiding him to the bed ( _their_ bed).

They split apart at the foot, each taking his own side which is weird as fuck because last time they shared something like this their bed was shoved right up to a crackled, concrete wall. They stare at each other for another moment in the encompassing darkness before Cas has the good sense to turn on the lamp so they’re not just gaping at each other in the pitch-black. The lamp is an older one, another second hand find with a butter-yellow light that soaks into the darkness at the edges.

“Better?” Cas’s lips play with that same quirk, more amusement than an actual smile.

And God is it ever. Dean’s flannel still hangs loosely around his friend’s shoulders and something deep and animal in his stomach loves the sight of Cas wrapped up in him.

“Yeah. Much.”

“Will I be receiving more than three-word answers out of you tonight?” Cas asks, voice lilting in question as the corners of his pale pink lips draw upward even more.

A heat without origin blossoms on Dean’s cheeks. Whether it’s from embarrassment at his taffy mouth or nervousness about...the other thing, Dean’s not quite sure. Both make his skin all tingly—just in two different ways with an ocean between ‘em.

It’s not that they hadn’t— _y’know_. ‘Cause they had. And when finally, Dean got the chance to lay his hand on Cas’s bare hip since the basement— _Jesus Christ_. That had been something else. Something otherworldly. They’d hid themselves pretty well, making stolen time when Gabe would go grocery shopping on Saturday mornings that Jack was also playing with a neighbor kid, or one very memorable time in the bed of Cas’s pick-up truck after Mary had suggested they try going to a drive-in theater on the outskirts of Kansas City. 

But _this_...this is different. 

There aren’t any eyes on them, nobody who might swing by unexpectedly. Jack’s dead asleep in his own bed with two closed doors and a hallway between them.

There’s nothing to interrupt them. 

Tonight, they can do whatever they want.

They’d talked about it, sure. But it hadn’t really seemed real ‘til this second.

Dean licks his lips, meeting Cas’s eyes head on, “Are you sure this is what you want, sweetheart?”

The playfulness fades from the other’s eyes, that genuineness Cas has had since the day Dean met him takes its place instead. Never looking away, his friend kneels up onto the bed, shuffling across the nicely made covers until they’re almost pressed together again. Heart thumping and a live wire in his chest, Dean closes the distance with a hand to Cas’s sharp jaw. He’s truly smiling now, leaning into the touch, sighing a warm breath across Dean’s wrist.

“Yes, Dean...do you?” There’s a touch of shyness there, and Dean can feel it in the way Cas’s fingers fidget an inch above Dean’s waist. It’s the kind of uncertainty about whether the touch is welcome or not that has no place in the safety of these four walls and something he never wants his friend to consider ever again.

The kiss Dean initiates is as sure as he is and as welcoming as he hopes Cas can feel. It’s a little sloppy maybe, what with Dean trying to mumble and nod his ascent between breaths, but _goddamn_ does it feel better than Heaven ever could.

“Can…” Dean’s throat clicks as he swallows, voice already turning thready between them, “Remember, we don’t hafta do anything, alright? If you just want to—”

“Dean,” Cas hums low beside his cheek. His voice drops with the kinda boundless patience someone like Dean needs in his life, “Do you remember what I said I wanted when we talked about this?”

Dean’s next swallow is considerably harder as the word—the _v-word_ —rises up just behind his teeth. Cas is keeping his eye and it’s impossible to look anywhere else even though he’s pretty sure he’d be staring at the patterns in the carpet if he were with anyone else. 

“You, uh...you said you wanted me to, um, ‘take your virginity.’”

“ _Have_ ,” a thumb strokes along Dean’s chin and it loosens his jaw, slender fingers slip Dean’s glasses up off the bridge of his nose and set them on the bedside table, “You’re not taking anything. I _want_ it to be you.”

“Yeah?”

The slightly serious line of Cas’s mouth wobbles until it’s very nearly a grin.

“Yes, Dean,” He smiles, “Are you still agreeable?”

How the fuck could he not be agreeable? The chance to make Cas squirm, find out what else he likes, hear all the pretty noises Dean’s only had a little taste of… 

He wouldn’t say no to that for all the money in the world.

Rolling his eyes, Dean squeezes their hips a little closer and goes to work on a particularly soft looking spot just under his friend’s jaw. It pulls a beautiful gasp from Cas whose slender fingers flex and grip wherever he’s holding onto Dean.

“Does it _feel_ like I’m not agreeable?”

“So—ahh,” Cas sighs and nudges Dean away from his neck. Dean only has a half second to panic that he’d pushed some kind of boundary before Cas’s own lips are tickling his skin and all other thoughts go up in smoke, “So I should take that as a ‘yes’...?”

“Y-Yeah… _ah, ah_ , oh... _god_ , Cas…”

With ninja like skills, Cas slips them out of both t-shirt and flannel, barely breaking the contact.

The world is fuzzy in the best way possible, not grey at the seams or a buzzing black that comes from lack of air. This is his blood sizzling under his skin, noises he has abso-fucking-lutely no control over tumbling from his lips, this is everything but their points of touch fading into the background… _this_ is _awesome_.

“ _Dean_ , Dean,” he nearly jumps back off the bed at the little nudging push Cas gives to his shoulder.

“Shit—fuck, was that too far? Oh God, I’m sorry I thought—”

“Dean,” before he can jerk too far out of Cas’s grasp, his friend rests a palm on his cheek. His thumb moves in little circles that tingle down to Dean’s toes. It’s so familiar now, grounding like nothing else is, and Dean lets whatever he was about to say dissolve into the air. Cas is smiling at him, that big gummy smile that feels like it was made for Dean, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Okay?”

Gaze flitting between Cas’s earnest eyes, Dean determines that—yup, Dean’s the only one having a mini freak out. His body slumps into Cas’s hold and they take a breath at the same time.

Cas looks fine, happy still. More than that, with dark eyes and rosy cheeks, Cas looks fucking _incredible_.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“I was just thinking that perhaps we should put some music on.”

“Huh? What? How come?”

The hint of another smirk plays at the corners of Cas’s grin, “You can get very...loud when I kiss your neck—I don’t want to wake Jack. I’ve been excited about this for a while.”

Dean takes another breath, trying to reel in the butterflies in his stomach at least to a manageable level, while his burning cheeks stay tucked in against Cas’s neck.

“Shuddup,” Dropping a quick kiss to the pulse point there, he rises from the bed. After peeling off the $7.99 sticker off the old CD player, they’d gotten the thing all plugged into the outlet behind their dresser where the player now sits. It’s maybe Dean’s favorite object in the whole apartment, “What do you feel like listenin’ to?”

“Hmm,” even with his back turned to his friend, Dean can clearly see the squinty furrow of Cas’s brow in his mind’s eyes, “You choose.”

“Ooh, well you know what I’m gonna choose then.”

“We must ‘end on Zeppelin.’”

Dean flashes a grin over his shoulder just in time to see Cas’s slender fingers slip out of air quotes.

“Fucking-A. Nothing like ending a kickass day with kickass music.”

“It has been a kickass day indeed.”

“And it ain’t over yet,” Dean’s blood is pounding just beneath his skin and he’s sure that, if more than the bedside lamp were on, Cas would be able to see the flash creeping across his chest. As the first strumming chords of “Tangerine” kick in, Dean turns back towards the bed and a flash of shyness sizzles in his chest, “I mean if you—that’s if you’re still, y’know...into it?”

Cas gives an almighty roll of his eyes, though his smile doesn’t wane. With strength that still surprises Dean, his friend reels him back onto the bed until he’s sprawled out right on top of Cas. His friend’s arms wrap solidly around his hips, shifting up to press butterfly kisses in a line from the bolt of Dean’s jaw down the column of his throat just like a moment ago. Head buzzing and warm, Dean’s eyes fall shut and he draws in a shaky breath.

“Ca-as…”

Cas squeezes his arms, drawing them in even closer. Both of their hips hitch at the tease of friction, Cas’s own hardness lining up beside Dean’s.

“Does it feel like _I’m_ not ‘into it?’”

Dean licks his lips. When did his mouth get so dry?

“P-Point taken—now c’mere.”

Despite the request, Dean is the one to lunge in for the next smattering of kisses to Cas’s jaw, cheeks, temple, and even both eyelids. When the first fingertips slip beneath the waistband of his sweatpants then boxers, Dean doesn’t even notice, too absorbed in Project Make Cas Moan to even really feel it. But when those fingertips drift down farther, gently massaging the sensitive round of Dean’s ass—now _that_ , he feels.

“Ca…” Dean’s breath dies in his throat as his muscles seize up, freezing under the messily familiar touch.

Likewise, Cas also freezes and gently lifts his hands until they’re still tucked in the pants but not touching skin.

“Dean? Would you like me to stop?”

Dean doesn’t answer. At least not right away.

The thing is...there’s only one (thankfully now six-feet-under) person who’s touched Dean like that, grabbed his ass for a whole boatload of fucked up reasons. Only one person who’d get his hands all over Dean whether he liked it or not—but that guy’s not here. Cas is. Cas is the one touching him, gentle hands not just touching Dean but _caressing_ him. His friend is touching him like he’s taking care of him, making it feel good for the both of them. That’s what finally has his tight muscles loosening once again.

_It’s just Cas._

“Y-Yeah...I’m good now.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean’s smile isn’t even really forced, and he eases the tension of Cas’s furrowed forehead by planting one on him, right on the corner of one eye.

“Yeah, man. I promise, just gotta go slow is all.”

“We can do slow.”

_Slowly_ , Cas’s hands lower back down to curve over Dean’s backside. His friend’s palms are warm and a little sweaty and everything south of the border fucking tingles like nothing else. It feels good and close and loving when Dean keeps his mind in the present. After a moment or two of loose cupping without Dean flipping his shit, Cas’s confidence seems bolstered and his fingers start back up on that whole massage-thing he’d been doing. Dean buries a groan in the pillow beside Cas’s head as he pulses between his legs, hips grinding down much to both of their delight.

“ _Anghh_...good, sweetheart…”

Dean feels more than hears the words that ghost along the bare crook of his neck.

“Would you still like to do the other thing we discussed doing? Or would you prefer something else?”

Even in the sunshine-y haze his mind is drifting through, he’s still tethered down to Earth enough for his stomach to flip nervously at the mention.

While Cas was the one to bring the whole virginity thing to the table almost a year ago...the _how_ was all Dean’s idea. Though it’d taken an ungodly amount of time for him to come around to telling Mildred about any of the stuff he and Cas did in the dark, Cas bringing up the v-word had been the straw to break the camel’s back. He’d sat on her fluffy couch, his eyes not leaving the ground for their whole hour as he caught her up on just about everything she’d been not so subtly asking about since their appointments started. He admitted everything he could remember anyway, and at the end, when he finally told her how Cas not only wanted to take things to a new level but that Dean had been wondering about the very same thing for quite a while—it was like shrugging the weight of the moon off his shoulders. Then Dean (okay, Mildred helped some) had started to plan and prepare.

“I think so, yeah...You?”

“Yes,” Cas is just on the edge of breathless, eyes so full of awe as he stares up at Dean that there aren't any doubts left in his mind—all that’s left to worry about are the details.

“And you read the stuff I sent you?”

Cas nods dutifully, but the seriousness is somewhat undercut by the gorgeous mess his raven hair has become.

“Do you mean the ones on anal fingering techniques, or the ones on prostate stimulation?”

“Dude!” A lot of the blood that had been traveling south rises back up to Dean’s cheeks, but he can’t help the smile he tries to bite back, “You don’t gotta—” a huff of laughter bursts out of his chest regardless as he buries his embarrassment in Cas’s shoulder. And _God_ , it feels nice to laugh, and to feel Cas’s laugh against him.

“Are those the articles you sent me?”

Dean playfully smacks Cas’s ribs and rejoices in the giggle it earns him, “Yeah, weirdo. Both. All. Still on board?”

“Yes, Dean.”

_Show time._

When they’d first started talking about this—what felt like ages ago but was really just months—Cas had offered to be the ‘bottom,’ as Google had informed them. But Dean had immediately felt like throwing up at the thought. It’d take a long-ass time filled with lots of staring at the ceiling and thinking when he should’ve been asleep before he’d narrowed down exactly what was wrong with that picture.

The short answer: Luc. Which wasn’t surprising by now but twisted Dean’s guts like ground beef every time he could trace yet another bad thing in his life back to the asshole.

The long answer, however, took a little bit of trial and error before he’d finally gotten his point across to Cas. It was a simple point, though you wouldn’t know by the way Dean tripped all over his own tongue trying to spit it out: Cas being the ‘bottom’—that had been Luc’s favorite show that the sick fuck liked to watch on repeat. Dean...he just couldn’t do that again, no matter how careful or safe or any of that good stuff they could try. He knew he’d tuck tail and run before they could even really get started.

That had been the initial fork in the road—and now this was the path they’d chosen. 

Resting on his elbows over Cas, Dean can’t help the nervous excitement kicking up his lips. His friend’s baby blues look especially bright with their little crinkles at the corners.

“Did you buy the condoms?”

Dean’s smile widens even more as he quickly hops off the bed and throws open the ‘special’ box he’d specially packed that morning. With his cardboard treasure in hand, he climbs back up to sit across his friend’s thick ( _incredible_ ) thighs and holds them up proudly.

“Best reviews on that shopping site named after the jungle. How ‘bout you? Did you get the lube?”

Cas snakes a hand away that had been resting on Dean’s knee, grabbing a long tube from the nightstand. When he’d managed to slip that in there during the day’s hustle and bustle, Dean will never know.

_Guess he really has been looking forward to this_.

He grabs up the tube and feels a tingle spreads out through his limbs. They’re actually gonna do this thing.

“Awesome! Divide and conquer, baby—that’s right.”

“Gabe said the Amazon.com reviews were good on that brand as well.”

Dean nearly drops the lube, “ _What_? Gabe helped you pick out _lube_?”

Cas at least has the decency to blush a little at the question and that’s maybe the fucking cutest thing he’s done all day.

“...Yes.” 

“Did you tell him what for?”

“Well...he guessed. I just filled in the blanks after he insisted on helping to make sure we were ‘being safe.’”

Dean should be embarrassed, right? Mortified or horrified or one of the other ‘-ifieds,’ shouldn’t he? But all that springs to mind is the mental image of Gabe’s wide eyes and Cas’s deadpan voice asking about lube brands. So, instead of some kind of admonishment springing to his lips, all that rolls out is a belly laugh as he claps his hand over his mouth before it can wake up Jack.

In a second, Cas’s eyes are shining too, eye crinkles getting crinklier.

“He also told me, and I quote, ‘Slippery sex is safe sex, Cassie. Remember that.’ And I honestly don’t believe I’ll forget it now.”

As their combination giggles fades out into the air, something thick and important-heavy takes its place. Dean licks his lips and watches brilliant blue track the movement.

“Can I, uh, can I kiss you then we get this show on the road? I just...kinda want to go for it before I chicken out.”

In response, Cas draws Dean’s pink-bitten lips down to meet his own. It slides into something smooth and electric immediately as their limbs re-curl to seek out one another. In three seconds flat, he’s grinding down again in his friend’s prone lap. Cas grunts out a moan that Dean eagerly swallows up, his grip tightening on Dean’s waist exponentially.

Somewhere in the heat, warm hands find their way back down to the curve of Dean’s ass where they start to squeeze gently, rubbing loving little nonsense patterns. Without _any_ conscious thought on his part, Dean’s back arches into the welcome touch. Their kiss breaks apart in a click of saliva, and Cas is gazing up at him, studying his (probably druggy-looking) face.

“I’m going to pull the back of your pants down, is that alright?”

Dean nods with a grunt, pressing back even more as deft fingers work the sweatpants and boxers off. A whooshing chill passes over his suddenly-bare skin, but there’s hardly a second to notice it before the heat of Cas’s kneading hands returns.

“Like that, Cas...really like that…”

“Good, Dean. I’m glad. I want you to like this.”

Having no clue what to say to that and why it makes the butterflies in his stomach only thump their wings harder, Dean nestles his face back against Cas’s neck and lets out the whimper sneaking out across his lips.

He nearly loses himself in the simple feeling of it. Even the impatient throbs of his dick aren’t enough to distract him. He’s nearly a puddle lying across his friend when his Cas’s hands slow down almost to a halt.

Fingertips slip closer to his crease and a shiver racks its way up Dean’s spine. Cas’s voice is low and boulder-thick when he murmurs, “I’m going to touch your anus now.”

Dean snorts, blinking his eyes open though he’s not sure when he closed them.

“Dude, don’t call it that,” and just as Cas opens his mouth, a niggling thought makes him shiver in the not so nice way, “...and, uh, don’t call it my ‘hole’ either...okay?”

Earnest as ever, Cas nods, “Of course, Dean.”

“Just, uh...maybe don’t call it anything for now.”

“Alright,” Cas gently presses Dean back down against him, kissing his cheek once, twice before his hands resume their teasing place, “I’m going to touch you here now, Dean.” 

Two of his fingers tap directly over _that_ thing and Dean’s already nodding and pressing back into it, “Yeah, yeah. Yeah, Cas…”

On the next breath, his friend leans up and their lips collide, just as the pads of those fingers start making small circles over the sensitive area. Dean’s whole body clenches, that iciness from before shooting into his veins.

_Toodrytoodrytoodrytoo—_

“Shh,” Cas hums, and thank all that is holy that their mind-reading thing is still holding strong after all these years, “it’s alright. I’m not going to do anything more without lubricant. Just...feel it, okay?”

Dean shoves down that little screaming voice, letting his eyes fall shut and his mind focus on the fingers alone and none of the other stuff it dredged up. 

_Just Cas. It’s just Cas._

And eventually—that little voice shuts the hell up.

For what could be seconds or hours, he breathes deeply as the light touch plays with him, teases him and—yeah, okay, maybe this isn’t so bad. Things get about a million times better, though, when soft lips start to dot (fucking _reverently_ ) along his shoulder. First the curl of his toes relaxes, then his thighs, until finally everything is unclenched and getting with the program.

“ _Caass…_ ”

The furled muscle twitches and shoots awesome swirls of electricity straight to where he’s aching. After another moment, Dean even finds himself pressing back against his friend’s hand wanting more…of something—but his unhelpfully floating brain won’t tell him just what that ‘more’ is.

“How does that feel, Dean?” Cas’s voice rumbles against his bare chest and Dean nuzzles in closer.

“‘S good, buddy.”

“Good, love,” kiss, kiss “would you like to try the lube now, or continue with this?”

Dean’s body only tenses a little this time, but at least he’s not as strung up as a guitar string anymore.

_If I say, ‘just this’ or if I say ‘stop,’ he will. That’s what’s different. But I don’t wanna stop. That’s what’s also different._

“Y-Yeah, sure. Worth a shot, right?”

With their fronts plastered together, Dean feels the twitch of Cas’s own length where it’s still trapped in comfy pants—God, _that_. He wants more of _that_.

The hands leave a cool, emptiness when they move away to grab the lube, his skin prickling at the loss until those warm palms are on him again. 

“This might be a little cool,” Dean knows it’s gonna be—he’s had lube on him before, duh—and he braces himself a little. But unlike all those other times, the chilly stuff isn’t just shoved into him three knuckles deep. Cas’s lazy, massaging circles work the lube warm and, as the minutes pass, Dean becomes about as gooey as cake batter, “How does that feel?”

Though he’s planning on making an actual sentence, all that comes out instead is a rough moan and his fingers traveling up to tangle in Cas’s hair, “Good, Dean. Very good.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he grunts, “you were really payin’ attention to those articles, huh?”

“Of cour— _ahh…_ ” Cas’s chuckle stutters into a gasp when Dean rolls his hips down on their squished junk and up against the fingers working him into putty.

“Good, very good,” Dean mimics, pressing his smile into Cas’s cheek even though it was meant to be a kiss.

“Perhaps...if you’re ready...we should resituate? There was one position I saw a picture of that I think would suit us very well.”

With another grunt of ascent, Cas begins rearranging them and Dean probably enjoys the strength flexing just beneath his friend’s skin a little too much. Even enjoys the slide of fabric against his tingling skin as Cas eases the boxers and sweatpants off of them both until it’s just flushed, bare body against flushed, bare body.

When they’re finally settled, well...fuck there’s a lot running through Dean’s mind.

_We never did_ this _with Luc._

Because _this_ is face-to-face, Cas tucked up against him with both of their heads resting on a pillow. This is Dean’s leg pulled up and resting over top of Cas’s hip with his ass exposed—not displayed. This is Cas kissing his face with one hand scritching blunt nails in lazy strokes through the hair on Dean’s thigh, inching back down to his crease. _This_ is what they need.

“Mmmm,” he sighs long and low when tacky fingers finally dip back down and continue kneading him looser.

Nope, never in all the time they were down there, did Luc _ever_ fuck Dean in any way shape or form similar to this.

“Better?” Cas rumbles.

“Now I _know_ this wasn’t in any of the stuff I sent you,” Dean says with eyes closed and an arched brow that he hopes Cas can appreciate from the mere inches between their faces.

“I may have done...additional research.”

“Yeah?” His eyes roll open to see Cas nodding, another rosy wave of pink rising to his friend’s cheeks, “Guess you’re gonna have to show me what you learned.”

“And you’ll tell me if you don’t like something?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means yes, now...c’mere,” Dean draws Cas’s lips back to his with a hand on his lightly stubbled cheek, it scrapes his palm electrically, “And, uh...keep doing that,” Dean mumbles with the tiniest wiggles of his ass—just so Cas will catch his drift—before diving back in for more.

Those fingertips are back and the only logical part of his brain that’s still online wonders how in the hell Cas’s wrist isn’t tired yet, but his friend doesn’t give any show of discomfort, so Dean takes it for what it’s worth.

Minutes blend together like hot fudge swirling onto melting ice cream until Dean’s internal clock gives up trying. His thigh has hooked entirely around Cas now, the tips of his toes poking at his friend’s calves. The shock or fear of having Cas’s hands down there is nearly nonexistent the longer they go, slowly being washed away by the warm, tingling waves radiating out from the touch. Cas seems to breathe in his moans, inching in infinitely closer until their flushed lengths line up entirely.

“M-May—” Cas gulps in a breath, licking his lips and, given the little space between them, accidentally licking Dean’s as well, “Can...W-Would you like to try penetration with my fingers now?”

The warmth in Dean’s belly simmers almost to ash, twisting violently because _no!_

“I…”

He may be a little more relaxed, but if Cas tries—fuck, if he tries to put something up in there now it’s gonna hurt! Cas’ll tear right through him and it’s gonna hurt so fucking bad just like—

“Dean?” Dean only realizes now what Cas has probably already figured out: he’s locked up again, “Dean, what’s wrong?”

The fingers on his ass lift away and Dean misses them already. His friend’s hand doesn’t travel far, just lifting back up to the swell of his backside and doing that massaging thing again.

“Um, sorry I…” It’s just a little too blurry to see Cas’s eyes and Dean’s kinda thankful for that actually, it gives him a second to get his head screwed back on without swimming in blue pools of panic.

“We can stop now if you’d—”

“No!” The idea of having to untangle from Cas now is an even more painful thought, “just, uh, give me a sec.”

“Of course, love.”

A second turns into about forty as Dean steadies his breaths and weirdly enough hears Mildred’s voice humming somewhere in the back currents of his mind. _It’s alright, Dean. You can tell him._

“I, uh...God this sounds stupid—”

“Whatever it is, it’s anything but stupid, Dean.”

“Right,” finally, he draws back enough to meet Cas’s patient—albeit, slightly worried—gaze. He licks his lips, “I’m afraid it’s gonna hurt like...well, y’know. Just hurt.”

“Hmm,” the worry snuffs out of Cas’s eye and Dean doesn’t think he’s imagining his friend’s chest spasming to release a breath he was holding, “I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?”

It’s not quite the response Dean’s expecting, but, well, he’s not quite sure what he had been expecting to begin with. In any case, he takes a second to let the idea roll around in his brain like a marble. There’s really only one response he’s got, though. He feels it deep in his now-untwisting stomach.  
“Just, uh—just go slow, alright? And keep telling me before you do stuff?”

A small kiss that ends in an even smaller smile is pressed to Dean’s cheek and Cas nods, rubbing his rough stubble against Dean.

The kisses don’t stop, and suddenly that warm hand palming him and rocking them together starts traveling again. The touch isn’t as hesitant or testing as before, though still slow and careful—but there isn’t an inch of doubt. Then, for the third time, the wet pads of fingers are touching him again and Dean frowns in relief.

“More lubricant,” Cas murmurs before the hand disappears, only to reappear practically dripping. It takes another moment for the chill to go away. But Cas dots his throat and jaw with kisses the whole time so it’s all peachy, “I’m going to start now. Okay?”

“Mhmm,” Dean grunts because complete sentences aren’t really doin’ it for him right now.

“First one finger. Relax, please.”

He grunts again for a completely different reason as one slick digit wiggles and presses at Dean’s loose opening and—

He’s in. It feels like Cas stops at only a knuckle or two in, far less than Dean’s had shoved up there before, but _holy shit_ does this feel different. 

It’s not unfamiliar but also light years away from anything he’s experienced before. Cas’s finger stills for a moment, though the kissing only amps up as their lips join together again (and, yeah, Dean happily accepts the distraction for what it is). He can feel himself clenching around it, relaxing into it and _fuck_ everything’s actually feeling kinda nice. Not all hot and heavy like how it usually gets when they stroke each other, but the whole thing sends pleasant goosebumps out across his skin.

Having met whatever relaxation requirements Cas had rolling around in his noggin, the digit begins to move. It’s supposed to hurt, supposed to rip Dean apart from the inside out until there’s nothing left worth saving—but it doesn’t. The slow slide of Cas’s finger matches the rhythm of their tongues, sharing one another’s mouth, as gentle and filled with love as all of Cas’s actions. Not until his friend draws back does Dean realize that his whole body is about as solid as a blue raspberry slushie.

“Second finger,” Cas says—lower than Dean can ever remember the other’s voice being. 

Between breaths, another finger presses beside the first, a slight resistance that Dean doesn’t have more than a moment to panic over before it slips in easily.

“Oh _God…_ ”

He’s full, full of Cas and if that isn’t the best feeling in the whole world Dean doesn’t know what is. Much to his complete fucking surprise, he can’t remember more than a minute ago, let alone years and everything is blissfully quiet—apart from the pretty little noises Cas is making and the ones falling from his own slack lips. There’s no Luc because this, what they’re doing together is good, right. It’s fucking perfect.

“Does that feel good?”

Burning got under Dean’s hands, Cas’s not-so-little space heater body sweats and flexes and pumps two fingers into Dean. There’s intention in his movements, fingers making a flutter of twists and turns inside him until—

“Fuck!”

Dean slaps a hand over his mouth as tidal waves of popping goodness crash through his body, lighting up the backs of his squeezed eyelids. Sure, Luc had accidentally nicked this place inside him before, but that didn’t begin to prepare him for what it’s like to have Cas’s full attention directed there. Twitching, bucking back against Cas’s fingers to feel— _God yes_ , that spot again. The double motion of their dicks sliding together and Cas’s digits is everything and nothing like Dean had imagined it.

Increasing his thrust and the pace of his hand, Cas gasps and shudders right along with Dean, until their faces slick with the moisture of their combined breath.

“Th-Three.”

The third finger is a bit more of a stretch, and his friend winds back down to carefully ease into Dean. There’s a stretch, a burn, but Dean knows how to deal with pain—pain _much_ worse than this—and is well rewarded when Cas resumes stroking that little spitfire place inside him ‘til all he can do is shake.

“ _CasCasCas…_ ”

“I’m right here, Dean,” a kiss to his cheek, a kiss to his temple, “How’re you doing?”

Dean’s lips smack and his eyes flutter closed as every thought centers on the tornado of sensations whirling through him, “‘M good— _fu_...so good…”

To say he’s a total mess from Cas’s touch would be an understatement, but there’s no part of him that gives a shit about anything not happening between his legs or between their lips.

It’s an almost painful kind of frustration when Cas’s fingers slow down to a stop. He can only get a grunt of protest out before a fresh surge of kissing blanks out his mind and he squeezes around the digits still filling him.

“Would you, uh, like to—?”

Dean knows exactly the question sticking to Cas’s tongue, he can almost taste it. It’s the final step in all the articles but seems now more like the first step of something much bigger than the both of them.

“ _Yeah, Cas_. Yeahyeahyeah…”

Dean bites back the whimper skating behind his teeth when the fingers gently slide out of him. The sudden emptiness almost makes him feel sick and deserted and alone—but the _snick!_ of the lube cap pops. Suddenly something beneath the rubber of a condom that’s way hotter and way bigger than Cas’s fingers is sliding over his loose center.

His friend’s shivering breaths are coming in warm, shaky puffs. Cas’s eyes are barely blue anymore, just dark and warm and zeroed in on Dean like nothing else in the world should even bother existing. 

“Dean.” 

“R-Right here, sunshine,” Dean manages, pleasantly surprised at how steady his voice is in spite of it all.

Cas’s length slip-slides once, twice over his entrance, teasing the sensitive, twitching area, “C’mon…I gotcha…”

Then he’s in.

A loud sigh punches out of both of them as just the top part pops in and Cas stills. It’s definitely a stretch, but there’s enough lube to sink a small ship and not a thing in the world Dean would rather be doing.

Dark lashes flutter shut as Cas’s mouth drops into a slack ‘O’ that does all kinds of things to the heat already coiled low in Dean’s hips. His sunshine’s normally sharp, tightly-set features just look so damn... _soft_ now. His friend looks so open and uncaring like this, easing ever so gently into Dean. This is the boy he’s gone to hell and back with—this is the man Dean’s gonna spend the rest of his life loving.

“Ca—” his words break off with a wet click around the lump in Dean’s throat. _Fuck_ , when did he start to feel like crying?

_Goddammit, not now!_

Cas goes rigid again inside him.

“Dean? Dean, what’s wrong?” The panic lacing Cas’s voice is the exact opposite of what Dean wants, what he needs. Hands scrambling to squeeze them closer, crushing the nonexistent distance between, Dean makes noises he’ll deny to his dying day. The burning is pushing at the backs of his eyes now, past the point of no return.

“K-Keep—Cas, please,” Dean hiccups and buries his face in the crook of Cas’s neck, muffled as he whimpers, “More. _P-Pleasepleaseplease…_ ”

Cas only hesitates another moment before slowly, _slowly_ easing an inch out—then sliding back in. If it’s possible, Cas is shaking even harder than Dean, and that’s one hell of a high bar.

“Dea— _ohhhh…_ ”

Tears are free flowing from one blink to the next, making Cas’s skin slippery where Dean gasps against it. He’s just so... _full_. Full of everything, all of it, both in his body and in his head.

It’s been years since Luc and Dean had forgotten—good lord, how had he forgotten how stuffed-full this felt?

As the tiny thrusts turn into bigger ones, the rhythm ends up giving Dean some fucking _divine_ friction against the sticky, slippery expanse of Cas’s belly.

“J-Just like that—unnnhhh…yeah, Cas. Just like that…” The squishy sex sounds are nearly drowned out by the rough exhales his friend is gasping out against his sweaty hair, “D-Does it feel good?”

His friend’s next breath is something between a moan and a laugh, coming out more like an indelicate snort that has Dean beaming where his smile is pressed to Cas’s shoulder.

“Good d-doesn’t…” Cas gulps, sloppily kissing just about anywhere on the side of Dean’s head that he can reach, “doesn’t e-even begin to…”

The slight chuckle he lets out shifts them ever so slightly and then Dean isn’t laughing anymore. He’s fucking writhing as the tip of Cas’s length presses painfully good against that deep spot on every thrust.

“ _Righttherejesuschristrightthere…_ ”

Time means next to nothing as Cas’s rhythm grows erratic, but the fact that he’s still able to hit just right on every shuddering thrust has Dean’s white-out-mushy brain believing maybe there really is a god. Maybe that god happened to read that prostate massage article and is deciding to give them a win today. Dean kinda likes that thought.

“I’m—”

That’s all the warning Dean gets before Cas seizes violently on an inward push, pawing at his back and making noises in the humid air between them that Dean will remember ‘til his deathbed.

Though the throbbing between his legs is practically crying out for more, it’s almost second nature to ignore it for the time being, more than worth it to watch the aftershocks roll through Cas’s limbs. Resting their foreheads together, Dean can practically feel the electricity buzzing under his friend’s skin like it’s a part of him, too.

“There you go...I gotcha…”

_And I always will._

“ _Dean_.”

Just resting inside him, Cas’s hard line grows softer only giving a little twitch (often accompanied by a whimper) each time Dean’s ass spasms around him. The passionate creases in his friend’s features smooth away to almost nothing as the seconds tick by, Dean thumbs over one eyelid, pressing a kiss to the other before they slowly open to reveal Cas-blue eyes.

“So, tiger,” Deans teases with what he damn well knows is a smug grin, “how’s it feel losing your vir— _oof!_ ”

Spit-slick, kiss-swollen lips collide with Dean’s, licking the words right out of his mouth. The hand that’s been gripping his hip for dear life slides down to his thigh, suddenly hitching it higher with a resounding grunt from the both of them. In a flurry of motion, Cas’s softness slips out of him as Dean finds himself on his back. He doesn’t have a moment to miss the full, whole feeling with Cas’s nibbling lips and dancing tongue instantly find their way to Dean’s neck. The urgency, the raw want all reminds Dean of their first time doing anything like this—all the fumbling made up for by all the wanting.

“We are not finished yet, Dean,” and God, that _smile_ , “There was something else I read up on independently.”

How Cas can go from speechless mess to teasing, complete sentences is a mystery to Dean but so completely Cas that it only makes his own smile grow wider.

“Yeah?”

Instead of answering, Cas’s kisses return to his neck, then his collarbone, swiftly trailing down to the center of his chest. Dean groans at the tongue that swirls along the rim of his bellybutton. Who knew bellybuttons were even sensitive? Then wet, clicking kisses and swipes of tongue drift lower and lower and _lower_ and all the blood is pooling exactly where Dean knows his friend is headed.

Cas flicks his gaze up with just a hint of shyness in his smile as the first swipe of tongue runs down Dean’s entire length. Cas has barely sucked his tip into the blindingly amazing heat of his mouth when the coil in Dean’s belly finally snaps. 

Only a string of noises is all the warning Dean can give before raw sunshine surges through his body and everything under his skin pulses to the beat of his heart. Eyes squeezed shut, and muscles clenched tight, Dean falls from the razor’s edge as the waves course through him until he’s left a boneless puddle and so, _so_ tired.

His blinks move in slow motion to bring the world back into focus. The first thing his drooping gaze finds are Cas’s wide eyes—and dribbles of white trailing down his chin from shocked, parted lips.

Coldness slashes through his bliss at the sight, ice replacing the lava in his veins.

“Oh my God, Cas—” Dean’s dizzy for a half second when he jolts upright to hover over where Cas is stock-still in his lap, “Shit, shit—I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to—”

As what seems to be becoming a pattern, Cas surges into his space and seals their mouths together to cut Dean off. He can taste traces of himself from what Cas hasn’t already swallowed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Cas rushes between kisses, “I liked it, I liked it.”

The kisses move from lips to cheeks and it’s only then that Dean feels the fingers entwined with his. His stomach rolls, but he tries to shove it down—wants to believe Cas more than he wants to feel like he just hurt him somehow.

“Y-You sure?”

“Of course, Dean—I could _feel_ it when you…” his friend’s voice lifts to a soaring, gentle height that has the tips of Dean’s ears burning a little, “I loved it. I love _you_.”

His head dips, weirdly bashful considering everything they’d just done, “Love ya, too, Cas,” then he licks his lips, ignoring another unpleasant churn in his stomach, “But, uh, didn’t it...I mean it always tasted so bad…”

“I promise, you don’t taste anything like him.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yes, Dean,” a flash of something bordering on playful sparks in less lust-blown eyes, “In fact, I would like to do that again some time if you are interested?” 

Oh, they are _definitely_ gonna be exploring that in the future.

Dean just nods and bites at his lip to keep his smile tucked away but it lets loose anyway at the gummy grin Cas flashes him.

Without the bursting sensations pummeling him left and right, a dull ache settles in to replace the emptiness.

Dean never thought pain could feel nice, but the slight throb is sweet and feels like a tingling reminder of how good Cas had felt inside him. It’s the best kind of pain.

They’re more or less a tangle of sweaty, sticky, satisfied limbs when they finally collapse back against the pillows. Sleeping is tiptoeing in on Dean, flowing into his tired brain and tired limbs—both of which are wrapped up in Cas. 

_Gonna sleep good tonight._

They’ll wake up just like this in the morning, a perfect mess under light blue sheets.

And, if Dean has any say in it, they’ll wake up like this every morning after.

  
  
**||||||||||| _fin_ ||||||||||**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much <3


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